Something Good
by bingblot
Summary: Nothing comes from nothing... The story of how the Captain fell in love with Maria, in the Captain's PoV from the 'Edelweiss' scene onwards.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: 'Sound of Music' and all things related to it don't belong to me. I'm only playing in its beautiful world for fun.

Author's Note: After years of loving 'Sound of Music', I've finally given in and started writing this, my first 'Sound of Music' fanfic. I've always wanted to know how the Captain fell in love with Maria and this is my attempt at writing it! Enjoy.

**Something Good**

_Chapter 1_

Captain Von Trapp shrugged out of his jacket and pulled off his tie, tossing them both carelessly onto a chair as he paced a little restlessly around his room.

His steps slowed and then stopped as he reached the small nightstand by his bed, his gaze fixating on the small portrait of Agathe sitting there.

He sighed, picking up the portrait and sitting on the bed as he stared broodingly at it, his eyes half-absently wandering over the familiar and so dear features, the bright smile, of his wife. Liesl had Agathe's smile, although she didn't take after Agathe in much else. It had made looking at Liesl, seeing her smile, almost unbearably painful to him for the first few months after Agathe had died.

He'd found thoughts of Agathe returning to haunt him more and more in these last days. It almost dismayed him to realize just how much he'd closed himself off from emotions, from thinking about Agathe, at first because it pained him too much and then out of habit. But now, with the sound of laughter and songs in the house, there were times it seemed very much like Agathe, too, should be there.

Agathe… Strange but it still seemed almost odd to him sometimes when he thought about Agathe's dying. She had been so young, so pretty, so full of life and love and laughter that the very idea that she could die had seemed ludicrous, still did at times, even now, years afterwards. It was, he supposed, what had made his pain and his grief so much greater, that in spite of her illness, he'd never really thought, never been able to _imagine_, that Agathe could die. And when she had…

It had seemed as if she'd taken all the light in the world with her, as if the very sun shone less brightly after she'd gone. And he'd retreated, helplessly, instinctively, like a wounded animal, back to what he knew best, the familiar order and regulations of the Navy. It had been all he could think to do, in his blind grief and his sudden helplessness, left with seven young children who were all bereft and looking to him when he felt as helpless as any child. Looking to him for direction when all he could think was that he didn't know what to do for them, didn't know how to take care of them… All he could think of was Discipline, a word that had been drummed into him in the Navy and that he'd embraced because of all the security and the order it had represented for him… Without Agathe, in a world that seemed to have become very cold and very empty, the order of Discipline had seemed like his best and safest refuge.

He could understand that now, could understand just why he had reacted the way he had. He could understand it—but he couldn't quite forgive himself for it yet.

He'd lost so much time, wasted so much precious _time_… Again, he heard Fraulein Maria's voice in his mind, the words returning to him as it had repeatedly in the days following, haunting him with its truth—and its threat. _You're never home long enough to know them… You won't even know her! _

But then, again, like a benediction and a promise, he also heard her words later, after he'd apologized. _There's still time, Captain. They want so much to be close to you. _

He looked down at Agathe's portrait but this time, suddenly, instead of seeing the familiar features of his wife, the face he saw had changed, the hair darkened into a deeper gold tinged with red and cut short, the eyes blue instead of gray, and instead of Agathe, he saw _her_, his children's governess, Fraulein Maria…

He blinked and the portrait was Agathe again but he felt another stab of guilt, of uncertainty, and he put the portrait down, standing up again to pace.

Good God, what was happening to him?

The events of that evening played out in his mind again—the puppet show and hearing his children's voices singing and, soaring above them all, always the clear, sweet voice of his children's governess, and then later, when she'd been standing in front of him, holding out the guitar, the invitation in her words and her gesture repeated in her eyes—her so very blue eyes—and her smile…

He'd looked at her and even as the first "no" had escaped his lips, he'd known he was going to give in. Even if he could resist _her_—and he'd suddenly doubted whether he could, at least at that moment—he knew he couldn't resist his children, not the eager smiles on Gretl's and Marta's faces, not the persuasion of Friedrich, not the gentle urging he could see in Liesl's face and hear in her voice, not the quietly earnest request he'd seen in Louisa's eyes…

He hadn't touched a guitar to play it in years but the notes had returned to him with surprising ease, the melody and the lyrics of the sweet, old song he loved so much returning to him as if it had never left.

_Edelweiss, edelweiss… _

His eyes had wandered lovingly over each one of his children's faces, remembering singing this song to his children as a lullaby, seeing Agathe bending over Marta and then Gretl in their cradles humming along with the song…

Marta and Gretl who had grown so much in these past couple years…

_You look happy to meet me… _

His eyes had wandered to where Fraulein Maria stood leaning against the wall and he'd given her a small smile as he said the words, wondering if she had any idea how grateful he was to her. She was the one who'd given his children back to him, given his _life_ back to him, and he'd realized more and more in these past days of watching her with his children just how much she'd done for his children as well. Their faces were brighter, their smiles more frequent and eager, their laughter more ready—and that, too, was because of her… He hadn't missed how Gretl seemed to gravitate towards her, or how his little Marta, always a shy one, smiled and laughed more freely in Fraulein Maria's presence…

She'd smiled, softly, back at him and he'd felt a wave of warmth in his chest before he'd looked back at his children.

_Bloom and grow… _

His eyes went from little Gretl and the small, wistful smile on her face, to Brigitta, who looked as if she were remembering other times when he and Agathe had sang this song to them, to Louisa, who looked so much like a young Agathe it gave his heart a little pang to see her sometimes, to Kurt, his little lad with Agathe's gray eyes, to Marta and her shy, small smile, and then to Friedrich, who'd grown so tall, and finally to his Liesl. Liesl, his lovely daughter, who was growing into such a lovely young lady…

_Bloom and grow forever… _It was what he wished for his daughters, that they would continue to bloom and to grow, ever lovelier, into women…

He'd looked over at Elsa, seeing all her cool beauty and her elegance, as he smiled at her. He'd meant what he'd told her that afternoon they'd first returned to the villa, that she'd been the first one to bring some meaning back to his life, and for that, he would always be grateful. He cared for her, even loved her, in a way…

He'd gestured with his head to Liesl to join him and she had, blending her clear, young voice with his, much as they had used to. And he'd seen in her eyes the memories of the times they'd done this in happier years past, remembered a day when Liesl as a very young girl had climbed into his lap and told him to teach her the song and so he had, singing every line slowly so she could repeat it back to him, until she'd learned the entire song and they had sung it together…

How could he have forgotten this? How could he have let himself waste these precious years of his children growing up?

And what would he have done if a certain, impertinent and outspoken Fraulein hadn't told him what he was doing?

On the thought, the wave of gratitude, he'd looked back up at Fraulein Maria as she'd leaned against the wall and that was when it had happened. He'd managed to finish the song although he hardly remembered doing so. The sight of her at that moment had hit him in the chest like a physical blow. His eyes had met hers and for the moment, the room, the rest of the world, had faded as he could only stare…

He'd known she was quite a pretty young woman—surprisingly young and surprisingly pretty—but it was only in that moment, seeing her, in that soft, blue dress, that he'd realized she was more than just pretty. In that moment, she'd been beautiful, the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen…

And he'd wanted her. It was a visceral thing, a sharp, sudden surge of desire and longing, not purely physical, and stronger than anything he'd felt in years. Looking at her in that moment, he'd just wanted her, _all_ of her, wanted her vitality and her passion and her _joie de vivre_, wanted her beauty…

He remembered that moment now, remembered the sudden surge of feeling, with another flare of shock mingled in with guilt.

He glanced down at the portrait and sighed, words escaping him almost of their own volition. "Ah, Agathe, I'm sorry."

He _was_ sorry. Oddly enough, the guilt he felt over the moment was mostly centered around Agathe and not Elsa, the living woman whom he cared for and was thinking of marrying. Guilt, not so much for wanting another woman, but because that surge of longing he'd felt had been more powerful than anything he'd ever felt for Agathe…

He hadn't felt guilt on Agathe's behalf over Elsa because some part of him had always felt, always known, that his feelings for Elsa would never be as strong or as deep as what he'd felt for Agathe. His desire for Elsa—and he did feel it—was… cooler, somehow, more restrained. It was more the desire he knew he should feel for a beautiful, charming woman whom he cared for than a true passion for _her_.

But this- the madness that had possessed him that evening when he'd looked at Fraulein Maria—it had shocked him, shaken him to his core with how intense the feeling had been, overwhelming him until it had taken him a few long moment before he'd realized what he was doing, that he was gazing at his children's governess with what he had no doubt was an unguarded expression, in full view of not only Elsa and Max but also all his children.

Good God, what had possessed him?

She was his children's _governess_. She would only be here for this summer. She was planning to become a nun!

(He still found it hard to believe that. The thought of Fraulein Maria, with all her youthful enthusiasm, living that cloistered life, all her exuberance tamed behind a habit, seemed so… wasteful… Her faith was strong, he knew enough of her now to know that, but it was such a vibrant thing that he couldn't imagine it tamed into a more reverent devotion. But it was her choice, he reminded himself. Her choice and he had no right to question it. He shouldn't even want to question it.)

He could feel gratitude for her, and yes, even some measure of affection, but no more.

And he loved Elsa, genuinely cared for her. He was probably going to marry her… He rather thought he _should_ marry her…

His children needed a mother and he… He wanted a wife…

He sighed again, looking at Agathe's smiling face, and found himself addressing her, as he sometimes did when he was alone, in the bedroom they'd shared for so many years. "You don't mind, do you, Agathe?"

And he could swear he almost heard her voice in his mind. _I want you all to be happy, Georg. I know you won't forget about me. _

He smiled a little. No, he would never forget Agathe, his first love, the bride of his youth… The _only_ woman he'd ever truly loved, because his feelings for Elsa, as sincere as they were, had never even approached what he'd felt for Agathe.

And yet… there had been that moment this evening… That moment, that endless look of gazing at her, his children's governess, the young woman who'd brought this entire house back to life, it seemed… And it had almost felt as if his heart, his very soul, had responded to the beauty of her in that moment, had yearned for her…

He shook himself, as if to clear his mind of the memory—the insanity.

It was impossible, he knew that.

She was his children's governess and he- he was seriously thinking of marrying Elsa.

Could he marry Elsa? Should he marry Elsa?

Did he truly want to marry her?

He loved her, he knew, cared for her, but it wasn't anything like the love he'd felt for Agathe—even the love he still felt for Agathe. It was… less than that, somehow, less deep, less intense. But perhaps that was just from age, from experience; he was no longer a young man with all a young man's passion and a young man's dreams.

He sighed again, returning the portrait to his nightstand and standing up to finish his preparations for bed.

He didn't know but he had the next few days, weeks even, to decide.

And he would, he resolved, keep his distance from Fraulein Maria. That way, there would be no further incidents of insanity.

_~To be continued…_


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

Author's Note: Thank you, everyone, for reading and reviewing! This is a short chapter but the next one will be longer, I promise. Enjoy!

**Something Good**

_Chapter 2_

Georg began regretting whatever impulse had made him agree to Elsa's request for a party long before the morning was over. (Except, he couldn't help remembering, the impulse had been born more out of a sense of self-consciousness and vague guilt for that look at Fraulein Maria than out of a wish to please Elsa as such.)

He looked down at the list of guests to invite- most of the local aristocracy from around Salzburg as well as a few government officials whom he couldn't avoid inviting—and suppressed a grimace.

Elsa looked up at him with a smile. "Is there anyone else among your friends whom you'd like to invite, Georg?"

His eyes fixed on the name of Herr Zeller, a representative of the Third Reich, who had become something of a mandatory guest at all social events, and he stiffened. It did not sit well with him that he had to invite such a man to his house as a guest. "These are not my friends; they're mostly distant acquaintances," he retorted coldly, unconsciously slipping back into the icily formal tones he'd tended to use with his subordinates when he was displeased. He saw the flash of some emotion flicker across her face and belatedly realized how harshly he'd spoken.

He put a hand on her shoulder, giving her an apologetic smile and consciously softening his voice. "I'm sorry, Elsa. That was unpardonably rude of me. I am quite the brute this morning, aren't I?"

She gave him a swift smile. "No, no, it's quite all right. Men always find the details involved in planning a party so tedious."

It was, he thought, the perfect, smoothly sophisticated response, the sort of response he could always expect from Elsa. He usually found it charming but somehow, that morning, he could only think of how very disingenuous it sounded. He tamped down that betraying thought.

"That hardly excuses my ill humor," he said instead, only to be distracted by a flash of movement on the lawn outside.

He turned to look and saw the children and their Fraulein—marching? What on earth…

It was purely idle curiosity. Whatever the children were doing, they were not in any mischief, certainly not with Fraulein Maria there with them, and yet…

He found himself standing almost without realizing it.

And yet, he couldn't resist the urge to find out. He wanted to know about every aspect of his children's lives after the past years of not knowing but some small part of him was conscious of also wanting to watch Fraulein Maria with his children.

"Excuse me, Elsa. I think I should go check on what the children are doing," he said half-absently and was halfway out of the room almost before he was peripherally aware of Elsa's response of "Certainly, darling."

He strode through the house and outside to hear the sound of the children's voices and the somewhat more authoritative, although warm and loving, voice of Fraulein Maria, all mingled in with the sound of the children's laughter.

The sound seemed to wrap around his heart, warming it. Even after just over two weeks of it, he could never hear enough of the sound of his children's laughter.

He rounded the corner of the house to see all the children, except Louisa and Kurt, standing and laughing as Kurt melodramatically fell to the ground and writhed before lying still.

His lips twitched at the boy's antics and the sound of his children's laughter. "What sort of game is this?" he asked, stepping forward, and everyone's gaze flew to him, Kurt and Louisa both quickly scrambling back to their feet.

He felt a fleeting pang at how, still, his children seemed to become more subdued if he startled them but then was immediately comforted as Marta ran over to him to clasp his hand, turning a bright smile up at him. (This was a change and one he would never have enough of, one of his children running to greet him.) "Good morning, Father. It's not a game," she informed him quite seriously.

"It isn't?" He let his gaze find Fraulein Maria as he rested a lightly-caressing hand on Marta's hair. "Then what sort of activity is this, Fraulein?"

She glanced at Brigitta, a quick, almost conspiratorial glance, before she said, straight-faced, "Why, we're following your orders, sir."

"_My_ orders?"

"Certainly, Captain. Did you not instruct me that the children were to march about the grounds, breathing deeply?"

He heard a stifled giggle from someone as he stared at Fraulein Maria, the sun shining on her hair and limning her figure. He couldn't see her eyes but—his eyes narrowed a little—he could see the tiniest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

She was _teasing_ him, he realized. Why, the impertinent… He tried- and failed- to remember the last time someone had teased him like this. Elsa had her own wit but it wasn't the sort to manifest itself in this sort of teasing and Max was more given to dry quips than light-hearted teasing.

He didn't try to hide his amusement as he smiled. "Touche, Fraulein. I see I shall have to watch my words more carefully around you if you are going to cast my own foolish words back at me."

She returned his smile before she added, "Actually, Captain, you've interrupted a history lesson."

He stared, looking around at the children. "A history lesson?"

"Oh, yes, Father," Friedrich spoke up. "We're studying Napoleon now and so Fraulein Maria is having us re-enact some of the battles."

"That's why I just died," Kurt added cheerfully.

It was, of course, an entirely unorthodox method of teaching but looking around at his children's smiling faces, he could only bite his tongue to keep from asking to join them. It would certainly be more enjoyable than planning a party—but no, he could hardly leave it all to Elsa. And he'd told himself he should keep his distance from Fraulein Maria.

"I see," he finally settled for saying. "Well, then, I shall leave you to your history lesson."

"Yes, sir." And Fraulein Maria threw him a jaunty, small but quite unmistakable salute.

He stopped and stared at her. She'd saluted him. (Again. He remembered her little salute just after they had met when he had outlined his rules for the children's behavior. He'd been very reluctantly amused and very irritated, both at her and at himself, all the more so for feeling unwilling amusement.) He was peripherally aware of more giggles from his children and that both Liesl and Brigitta were staring between him and their governess but he couldn't tear his gaze away from Fraulein Maria.

She was smiling at him, her entire face positively glowing with a simple love of life, tinged with mischief—and his breath was sucked right out of him at the sight. His mind was suddenly flooded with a memory of Agathe, who had once saluted him in jest too—but she hadn't invested the gesture with nearly as much charm as Fraulein Maria had.

And he was charmed. Charmed and utterly drawn to her… At that moment, there was nothing in the world he wanted more than to remain out here, not for his children's sake, this time, but simply for her… He wanted to stay with her, wanted to soak in the vibrancy of her…

It took a positive act of will for him to turn away from her, to stop himself from walking towards her. But he managed it and he had, perhaps, never been quite so grateful for the iron self-control he'd acquired in his years with the Navy as he had been at that moment.

He forced himself to give his children a slight smile and a nod and patted Marta's shoulder as he left, trying to seem completely unaffected, as if nothing had just happened.

He stopped when he was just out of sight, around the corner of the house and paused for a moment, trying to regain his composure.

From behind him, he heard a shout of laughter that he recognized as Kurt's followed by a higher giggle from Gretl and he felt another pang of longing. He wanted to spend more time with his children, time all the more precious because of his lingering regret for all the time he'd wasted, but he didn't dare. Not now, not yet, when he was still reeling over his unprecedented and utterly wrong reaction to Fraulein Maria's teasing.

She was his children's governess, he reminded himself yet again—except the reminder didn't seem to make much of a difference to him. She was just so… _alive_… so openly ingenuous in her appreciation for music and beauty, so honest in her affections…

She… she reminded him of Agathe, he suddenly realized with something of a shock. They didn't look alike and their mannerisms were very different because, for all her cheerful nature, Agathe had been raised to marry into a wealthy household, so she was, in many ways, more like Elsa than Fraulein Maria. And yet… And yet, Fraulein Maria did remind him of Agathe somehow… Perhaps it was the love of music for Agathe had loved music. She had always laughingly disclaimed any ability to sing, although her voice had been sweet enough, but she had loved music, of all kinds, and loved dancing as well.

He remembered the first party they had hosted after their marriage, remembered how bright Agathe's smile had been as she'd urged him into waltzing with her, remembered whirling around the dance floor with her in his arms, her gray eyes shining at him…

The memory was why he'd been so adamant about not using the ballroom, why he'd been so angry when he'd first seen Fraulein Maria inside it, that a stranger would dare to simply walk into that room…

On an impulse, he strode back into the house, to the formal ballroom, which was going to be given another thorough cleaning before the party. It was empty now, the maids busy elsewhere, and he looked around at the ornate walls and tried to picture it as it had been on that night when he and Agathe had danced, tried to pull the memory to his mind.

And yet…

The faint strains of music he heard in his mind from his memories were not of a waltz. Not anymore. He looked around this room and in his mind, he heard his children's voices, yodeling, heard Brigitta's sweet voice singing about a girl in a pale, pink coat… He heard Fraulein Maria's voice, clear and beautiful, lilting her way through the lyrics of the songs for the puppet show…

He abruptly returned to himself to realize that he was standing alone in the ballroom, smiling to himself at the memory of a puppet show, and he straightened, with a small sense of shock at his own behavior.

And what good was it to resolve to keep his distance from his children's governess if he spent his time going over all his memories involving Fraulein Maria?

He should return to Elsa, try to help her with the preparations for the party.

He did and Elsa smiled at him as he returned to the little room she'd appropriated as a study of sorts while she prepared the details for the party. It was a smile that made her eyes sparkle and which had more than once drawn him to her from across a room.

And yet, somehow, that afternoon, he found her smile and her sophisticated charm infinitely less attractive and less distracting to his peace of mind than a certain, impertinent governess with blue eyes and a smile so bright it could light up a room…

_~To be continued…~_


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

Author's Note: Thank you, everyone, who's read this story and reviewed it! I appreciate every one, even if I don't respond personally.

**Something Good**

_Chapter 3_

"May we, Fraulein Maria?"

Louisa's pleading voice was the first thing Georg heard when he stepped outside after dinner.

He didn't know what Louisa was asking for but whatever it was, clearly the rest of his children wanted it just as much, as Louisa's request was immediately echoed with a chorus of "Please."

He looked at Fraulein Maria to see how she would react to this onslaught and saw how she visibly hesitated, her gaze going from Louisa's pleading face to Kurt's to Marta's to Friedrich's and finally to Gretl, who was looking up at her with an expression that could have melted a heart of stone.

"Very well," she agreed with an affectionately indulgent smile. "We can go up to the Untersburg for a picnic tomorrow."

Ah, a picnic.

There was a chorus of thank you's and Louisa wrapped her arms around Fraulein Maria for a brief hug, he saw with something like surprise. Louisa was the least openly affectionate of all his children and to see her so clearly at ease with Fraulein Maria touched him more than he would have expected.

He continued forward and then Gretl was running over to him and he bent and lifted her up into his arms. "So you're going on a picnic tomorrow, sweetheart?" he asked her.

She slipped her arm around his neck and smiled at him. "Why don't you come with us, Father?"

He paused, a little startled, and then Marta, too, had come up to him. "Oh, yes, come with us, Father."

He knew there were several very good reasons why he should say, no. He could hardly abandon Elsa and Max for half a day or more to go on a picnic. He had some correspondence to catch up on, which had been rather neglected in the past week with Elsa and Max and spending more time with the children. He had told himself he needed to be careful about the time he spent in Fraulein Maria's company, although he had yet to figure out how to do this without also denying himself his children's company, which he could not do and did not want to do.

But at that moment, he couldn't recall a single one of those reasons. Nor could he deny the request in Gretl's and Marta's faces—he could never deny them anything, he thought, would give them the world if they asked for it.

And entirely aside from his wish to indulge his children, he _wanted_ to spend the day with them. He wanted to spend time with them, wanted to smile at them and watch them as they played.

Peripherally, he realized Fraulein Maria had come up to put her hands on Marta's shoulders as she began, gently, "Now, I'm sure your father is busy…"

He glanced over at her, his eyes meeting hers. "On the contrary, Fraulein, I can think of nothing I would like more than to join you all on a picnic."

He saw the surprise and pleasure leap into her expressive eyes before she smiled—she had the most beautifully expressive eyes he had ever seen-- and he was only peripherally aware of the cries of delight from his other children.

He didn't move, forgot to move, his eyes smiling into hers, for a long moment before he remembered himself and turned to smile at Gretl. "Happy now, darling?"

She nodded emphatically and he kissed her forehead before lowering her to the ground.

"Will you really come with us, Father?" Brigitta asked and he felt a small pang at the wistful hope he could see in her eyes.

"I promise," he said simply and was amply rewarded by the way her smile illuminated her face.

"Hurrah!" Kurt burst out irrepressibly and the moment was broken up with laughter.

Georg looked around at the smiling faces of his children and his children's Fraulein and thought that the next day's picnic may very well end up being one of the happiest days of his life.

The weather the next day could not have been more perfectly suited for a picnic. It was as if God himself was smiling down on them in approval.

Their little group was a little larger than had originally been planned and now included Elsa as well as Max. When he'd finally, belatedly, remembered Elsa and mentioned the picnic, she had surprised him by immediately expressing a wish to accompany them all and then, of course, Max had had to come too. The children had happily welcomed the idea of "Uncle Max" joining them and (somewhat less happily) welcomed Elsa as well.

He could not, no matter how he tried, imagine Elsa sitting on the ground, even while on a picnic, so he'd arranged to bring two folding chairs with them, one for her and one for Max. Elsa somehow managed to look quite as sophisticated and quite as elegant sitting on the folding chair as she would in the drawing room of a palace. She was wearing the most simply-styled dress he had yet seen her wear and made a very pretty picture, in her pink dress and matching hat, with the bright green of the grass stretching out behind her until it met the mountains and finally the clear blue sky.

Georg let himself relax further, feeling contentment settle over him like a blanket. The children had gone off on their own after they had finished the picnic lunch, Friedrich and Kurt in one direction, and the girls in another, leaving only the adults still lingering on the picnic blanket.

"This is quite delightful," Elsa declared, smoothing her skirts a little, as she looked around before meeting his eyes.

"Yes," Max joined in, addressing Fraulein Maria. "This was truly an inspired idea, Fraulein."

Fraulein Maria smiled but demurred. "Oh, no, it wasn't my idea; Louisa requested it."

"Ah."

The Captain turned his gaze towards Louisa, who had wandered off with Brigitta, while Liesl followed more slowly with Marta and Gretl, although he suspected that Louisa was likely looking more for insects or butterflies than for flowers, unlike his other daughters. He focused his gaze on Liesl as she bent her head to listen to something Gretl said and reflected on how much Liesl had grown in these past weeks and how good she was with her youngest sisters. More and more, when he looked at Liesl, especially when she was with Gretl or Marta, he was reminded of Agathe. It was yet another change for which he could thank Fraulein Maria, he was aware. Liesl had blossomed under Fraulein Maria's care and her example and he was suddenly filled with an almost painful pride in his daughter.

Pride and gratitude to Fraulein Maria.

On the thought, he heard someone call her name and saw Marta waving at her. Fraulein Maria waved back and immediately stood up with a quiet, "Excuse me," before she walked towards where Marta was waiting.

It was an impulse, one he didn't consciously realize he was going to follow until he found himself getting to his feet as well, quickening his stride just a little until he fell into step beside her.

"Thank you for permitting me to join you all, Fraulein," he began, a little awkwardly, not sure how to express his rather confused thoughts.

"Not at all, Captain. The children were obviously delighted to have you accompany us."

It was very characteristic of her, he was beginning to realize, to demur from any thanks or compliments which she might receive. But some compliments and some thanks simply had to be expressed.

"You are very good with children. It is remarkable how much they have changed."

She paused to look up at him, her expression serious. "They haven't changed, Captain, not in essentials. They are wonderful children."

He had to smile a little. "Eleven former governesses would disagree with you on that, I think." All eleven of those ladies had informed him that his children were quite impossible and, irritated though he'd been at that assessment, he had to acknowledge now some truth to the accusation. His children had not been very pleasant with the other governesses with all their pranks and tricks and he'd always had to step in to punish them since the governesses were clearly incapable of keeping any sort of order among the children, much to his disgust.

He suddenly found himself remembering that first dinner, that pine-cone on Fraulein Maria's chair placed there by Kurt, he strongly suspected, as the boy had, quite suspiciously, been the first one to arrive at the dinner table and had been seated, quite properly, in his chair when he'd arrived, although Georg knew quite well that all the children had been part of the conspiracy. A slight smile quirked his lips as he remembered her reaction, the way she'd leaped up with that mixture of a shout and a laugh, and then the way she'd resumed her seat afterwards, claiming it was rheumatism instead of placing the blame on the children where it had belonged. He hadn't thought it at the time, had been rather irritated with her for disrupting the meal the way she had with her insistent conversation and then how she'd managed to turn the tables on his children and reduce his daughters to tears but now that he thought about it, that first dinner alone should have warned him that Fraulein Maria would be nothing like any of the previous governesses.

That simple fact had alternately irritated him and disturbed him until that very memorable afternoon on the landing by the lake when he'd realized that Fraulein Maria might be unique among the governesses in her impertinence bordering on insubordination but she was also right.

"Oh but Captain," Fraulein Maria responded, "the children didn't play any of their tricks on their former governesses out of real mischief but because it was their only way to get your attention."

It wasn't a reproach, amazingly enough. It was only her simple honesty, her way of telling the truth whenever possible, and her words were not meant to induce guilt at all, especially since he had already taken her earlier reproaches to heart. He was beginning to know this governess of his children's and he knew that she was not the type to belabor a point unnecessarily or to take any pleasure in being right when it might hurt another. But he felt another pang of guilt and regret as he glanced around, first at his children, and then back down to meet her eyes.

"I don't know if I've thanked you yet for making me realize what I was doing," he told her soberly. "I have wasted so much time and it is thanks to you that I will not lose any more time with them."

She looked away, a light flush of pleasure on her cheeks. "It was my duty, Captain, and my pleasure."

"Nevertheless, I do thank you, Fraulein."

She only smiled and, as he'd rather expected, changed the subject. "It is such a lovely day, is it not?"

"Yes, it is lovely," he answered rather absently—and then realized, belatedly, that he was still looking at her, at her profile as she turned her face up to the sky as if to soak in the sunshine.

"It's the sort of day when I always feel as if the Untersburg is calling me," she said almost dreamily. "My mountain calling me to climb higher and higher until I feel like I can almost touch the clouds."

He stared at her, feeling an unwilling and undeniable stab of _something_, some emotion he didn't care to identify, in his chest. She was so utterly… open and so ingenuous, quite transparent in her thoughts and her feelings, both from her expressive eyes but also from her refreshing honesty. It was charming, disarmingly, startlingly so—and he was charmed.

He pulled his mind away from the thought of her charm to focus on something else she'd said, a neutral topic. "_Your_ mountain?"

"Oh." She glanced at him, flushing a little. "I call the Untersburg my mountain because I grew up on it. I used to climb over it and down so I could look over into the Reverend Mother's garden and hear the Sisters sing as they went into Vespers."

"I see." The reminder of her past and her future in the Abbey was a little jarring and he was a little startled to realize how quickly he'd forgotten that she was a postulant, that she was only here for a summer and then would become a nun. There were times it seemed as if she'd always been here and always would be…

"Well, I thank you for allowing me and my children to trespass on your mountain, then," he said with a smile he forced to look casual.

"You and the children are always welcome on my mountain, Captain," she said lightly before she hurried forward a little to where Marta was waiting.

Marta playfully placed a little circlet of flowers which she'd woven together on Fraulein Maria's head and Fraulein Maria made a curtsy to Marta, as if accepting a deep honor, and Marta giggled again as she hugged her governess. He felt a smile tug at his lips as he watched this little tableau, noting the affection evident in Marta's hug and in the way Fraulein Maria returned the hug.

Georg heard a shout and turned to see Kurt running towards him and the ball that he and Friedrich had been throwing to each other rolling towards him. He bent and picked up the ball, tossing it to Kurt as the boy came panting up.

"Thank you, Father."

Kurt's face was rosy with exertion and he was breathing hard. Georg playfully ruffled Kurt's hair even more than it already had been by the wind.

Kurt grinned up at him, hesitated, and then blurted out, "Would you like to play with us, Father?"

Georg stilled, his gaze on his son's face, the tentative hope on it. Throwing a ball back and forth with his sons—he hadn't done anything like that in years, if ever. But he looked at Kurt's round, boyish face and found he could not refuse him. "I would love to, Kurt."

"Really?"

Georg nodded and walked back to where the picnic blanket was, stripping off his jacket as he walked with Kurt beside him.

He placed the jacket onto the blanket.

"Whatever are you doing?" Max asked, sounding amused and disbelieving.

He met Max's eyes. "Joining my sons in their game."

He glanced at Elsa and saw her shock quickly disguised with a bright smile. "Have fun, darling."

Friedrich had come up at Kurt's beckoning and now he grinned at Georg, his eyes bright and clear, suddenly looking like the very young boy from Georg's memories.

Georg smiled back at his eldest son, noting with a small shock how very tall Friedrich looked. "Well, shall we begin?"

"Oh, yes, Father!"

Kurt ran off with a laugh with Friedrich just behind and Georg found himself following, running as he had not run in years.

What followed was… was like nothing he could remember doing in years. His sons were young and active boys and he found that Kurt, at least, seemed to take particular fun out of deliberately forcing him to run after the ball instead of throwing it at him. It was… utterly undignified, quite chaotic as there were no real rules of any sort except to keep the ball in the air and away from the grass, and… more fun than he had had in years. He found himself laughing and calling out encouragement and light teasing to his sons, uncaring of the fact that he was soon perspiring and breathing hard, his shirt undoubtedly becoming stained.

The game didn't end until Kurt, in running after the ball after an errant throw by Friedrich, tripped on a tuft of grass and landed flat on the grass. Georg ran over to where the boy lay, his heart suddenly in his throat, only to find Kurt had already rolled over and was lying there, _laughing_. The boy was _laughing_.

Georg found himself smiling even as he asked, more out of habit than true concern, "Are you hurt at all?"

Kurt grinned up at him. "Only my pride, Father," he said as he scrambled to his feet.

And somehow, it was only then, when he straightened up, that Georg realized how very tired he was—and how disheveled.

He laughed a little to himself as he hastily tried to put himself to rights again, brushing himself off and straightening the sleeves of his shirt and finally, running his hand through his hair in a futile attempt to restore it to its usual order. He must look incredibly undignified, he thought, but there was no help for that—and he had enjoyed himself.

He approached the picnic blanket to realize that, not only were Elsa and Max staring at him, but so were all his daughters and Fraulein Maria, with varying expressions of disbelief, surprise and amusement—well, Max was the only one who really looked amused.

Liesl came up, offering him a glass of the lemonade that Frau Schmidt had packed. "Here, Father, you look as if you need a drink."

He smiled at his eldest. "Thank you, darling."

He arrived at the picnic blanket and was pleasantly surprised to have Louisa step forward and give him a quick, spontaneous embrace.

He returned her embrace, feeling his heart warm.

She stepped back and looked up at him, her face bright. "I am so glad you came with us today, Father," she said simply.

"As am I, my dear." He bent and kissed her forehead, his heart swelling with love for this daughter of his who, of all his children, had been the slowest to trust him again—he'd seen it in her eyes in those first days after his return from Vienna. He suddenly felt as if he had won something immensely precious.

He looked up, his eyes falling on Fraulein Maria, who had been watching him and Louisa with a very faint, half-wistful smile on her lips. But as his eyes met hers, she blushed hotly, color flooding her cheeks, before her eyes fell and she turned away, looking more flustered than he could ever remember her looking.

He studied her face in profile for a few seconds, the beginnings of a frown in his eyes. She was usually so open that this sign of self-consciousness seemed all the more noticeable. What had caused that blush?

"Fraulein Maria, I'm hungry," Kurt announced as he came up.

Fraulein Maria turned to him with what looked like a distinct air of relief. "I'm afraid you're going to have to suffer for a little while longer," she said lightly, "as we've finished all the food we brought with us."

His face fell. "Really?"

"Really."

Fraulein Maria placed a hand lightly on his shoulder for a moment, as if in sympathy, and after a moment, he looked up at her.

"Would I get sick if I ate the grass?" he asked, looking, Georg realized with a spurt of amusement, quite hopeful that the answer would be no.

Fraulein Maria thought about it before she answered, quite seriously, in spite of the tiniest hint of a smile tugging at her lips, "You know, Kurt, I don't know. I would imagine you probably would get sick but I doubt you'd die from it."

Kurt actually looked at the grass as if seriously thinking about it and Georg couldn't help but laugh, going over to put his hand on his son's shoulder.

"Now, Kurt, I'm sure you're in no danger of wasting away until it's time for dinner."

"It is time to leave, though, Captain," Fraulein Maria interceded. "If we do not, we may not be back at the villa in time to dress for dinner."

He glanced up at where the sun was still quite high in the sky, before mentally calculating the time it had taken them to arrive. "You are quite right, Fraulein. I bow to your superior knowledge of all things concerning your mountain," he added with a smile.

She smiled. "I don't recall claiming any superior knowledge, sir."

"I believe the claim was implicit in your ownership of the mountain," he responded lightly.

He heard a small noise and looked up, distracted, to see that Elsa had stood up and had folded up her chair and belatedly realized how much attention he'd been paying to Fraulein Maria and how little attention he'd paid Elsa in the last hour. He caught Brigitta watching him and her governess with clear curiosity in her eyes at this bantering exchange between them that quite excluded everyone else.

He hastily busied himself by retrieving his jacket and shrugging back into it and making a show of looking around for any items which needed to be packed up once again.

He was conscious of being distinctly irritated with himself. He knew he was paying too much attention to Fraulein Maria and had resolved to be more careful and yet, here he had spent a good portion of the afternoon watching her and interacting with her, when he had not spent anywhere near the same amount of time with Elsa.

He felt a pang of guilt for how much he'd neglected her of late and mentally resolved to spend the next day with her.

The picnic materials were packed up soon enough and they set off back down the Untersburg.

Georg fell into step beside Elsa, offering her his arm, as they walked.

"You appear to have enjoyed your afternoon, darling," she said lightly.

"Were you very bored, Elsa?" he asked. "I'm afraid I've been a very careless host."

"Oh, no, darling, don't worry about me. I thoroughly enjoyed being able to enjoy the beauty of the scenery and the day in peace."

He glanced at her face, what he could see of it in spite of her hat, but couldn't see anything besides sincerity in her expression and felt a wave of affection for her. Always the agreeable lady, in spite of his neglect, it was truly remarkable.

His thoughts were interrupted as he heard Brigitta begin singing softly to herself. "Do, a deer, a female deer…"

He glanced around to see the general smiles that passed over his children's faces as they all chimed in, continuing on.

"Re, a drop of golden sun…"

He smiled at some of the lyrics but mostly found himself simply enjoying listening to the clear voices of his children as they sang.

From behind him, he heard Max's voice. "Georg, listen…"

He cut Max off before he could say anything more. Max was nothing if not persistent. "Max, I hope you are not planning on spoiling this lovely day by provoking me," he said firmly, if quietly.

Max, thankfully, chose discretion over valor and Geog returned his attention to his children, his eyes flitting from one smiling face to another, as they sang.

His heart filled with a rush of almost painful pride and happiness—these were _his_ children, singing so sweetly… His eyes met Brigitta's for a fleeting moment and she beamed at him, her expression bright and laughing.

His children were so happy right now, he thought, happier, certainly, than he could remember them being in years—and it was because of Fraulein Maria.

His eyes moved on to focus on Fraulein Maria, her hair shining golden in the sunlight, as she walked hand in hand with Gretl on one side and Marta on the other. Gretl was looking up at her governess with the most blithely trusting expression, her innocent smile as she sang catching at his heart.

He suddenly felt immeasurably blessed, very certain that God was looking down on his family and smiling. He was blessed, not only in his children but that God had sent Fraulein Maria to them, to give his family back to him. _She_ was a blessing, he thought with a wave of warmth in his chest as he looked at Fraulein Maria. She was a blessing and he could not be more grateful…

_~To be continued…~_


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

Author's Note: Thank you, everyone, who's read and reviewed this story. This chapter doesn't have too much Georg/Maria interaction but the next one will have more. Enjoy!

**Something Good**

_Chapter 4_

He supposed, afterwards, that it would have been too much to expect that the almost angelic behavior of his children and the idyllic happiness of the summer days could continue on. And yet, when the idyll was broken, he still found it startling. As if he were surprised to discover that his children were, after all, normal children and not angels.

It was raining that morning and so the children had to stay indoors which undoubtedly added to their restlessness.

"I wanted it to be sunny today," Marta said rather fretfully during breakfast.

"I wish you wouldn't whine, Marta," Brigitta scolded. "We all wish it was sunny."

He opened his mouth to chide Brigitta for her tone but Fraulein Maria spoke up first.

"Brigitta…"

There was just enough disapproval in Fraulein Maria's voice to make Brigitta look up and then flush with some regret and she reached over and squeezed Marta's hand in silent apology before looking back up to meet Fraulein Maria's slight smile and nod.

Georg relaxed as peace seemed to be restored but it didn't last.

"May I dance at the party, Father?" Liesl asked.

"Absolutely out of the question," he responded immediately, rather amazed that Liesl would even ask. She was only sixteen!

"But, Father, I'm sixteen now!" she protested with some heat, surprising him. She never would have questioned one of his decrees so openly before. "I'm not a child." She abruptly turned to Fraulein Maria. "Fraulein Maria, will you tell Father--" she began.

Fraulein Maria looked up from where she'd been helping Gretl, her eyes fleetingly meeting his before she looked at Liesl. "Now, Liesl, you must behave like an adult if you want to be treated like one," she said quietly.

Liesl flushed a little. "Please, Father, may I dance even once?" she asked with scrupulous politeness.

He met Liesl's eyes. "No, Liesl," he said, more gently but firmly enough that she knew he wasn't going to relent, and Liesl was silenced, although, he noticed with a small, inward sigh, the rather mutinous set of her lips and chin afterwards.

The rest of breakfast passed quietly enough but without the usual cheerful conversation.

He glanced at Elsa, who was watching the children with an odd expression on her face, part curiosity and part surprise, as if she hadn't realized that the children who had been almost uniformly cheerful for her visit so far, could be so silent for so long. He wondered what she was thinking to put that expression on her face—was she trying to imagine herself their mother? The thought was a little startling.

"Would you like any help with the last preparations for the party, my dear?" he asked, mindful of his resolve to spend more time with her.

She turned to smile at him. "If you have time, I would love to have your opinion on some things."

He returned her smile. "For you, I have all the time in the world," he said gallantly.

He was rewarded for this with another bright smile and his mood lightened somewhat as he studied her lovely features.

Another silence settled over the dining table, although this one was a little more peaceful than it had been earlier, until it was finally broken by Fraulein Maria.

"Children, come along, it's time for your lessons."

The children grumbled and seemed to drag their feet as they stood up with palpable reluctance and discontent.

"Oh, must we, Fraulein Maria?" Kurt asked plaintively.

"Now, Kurt, you know you have to," Fraulein Maria reproved gently as she ushered each one out the door.

"But Fraulein--" Kurt began.

Fraulein Maria gave Kurt a very expressive look and said, "Kurt," in a low but very firm voice and Kurt subsided, closing his mouth and following after Brigitta.

Georg watched this with some interest, realizing with something like surprise, that for all her laughter and all her affectionate nature, Fraulein Maria could also keep his children in order surprisingly well. It wasn't anything he'd particularly considered before, perhaps because of the very mildness of her discipline, but he realized now that Fraulein Maria did keep order in her own way. His children listened to her, followed her instructions, as they had now, even when it had been clear that none of them wanted to start their lessons for the day. He suddenly remembered one of the former governesses—he could not remember her name at the moment—and how that lady had had to physically push the children out of the room when it came time for lessons and how, one morning, Brigitta had quite deliberately spilled her drink soaking both herself and Louisa in the process in an attempt to put off their lessons, much to that lady's anger.

His children's behavior with Fraulein Maria was in striking contrast to that. They obeyed her, not always eagerly but without any real fuss. She kept discipline, he thought, through her very gentleness. His children obeyed her because they wanted to, because they knew she cared for them and they trusted her.

He suddenly realized that he was thinking of Fraulein Maria again and hastily pulled his mind away, focusing instead on Elsa and her cool beauty. She was lovely, he thought in a rather detached manner, always a pleasant sight. He wondered what it would be like to see her every morning when he awoke; he had never seen her without her powder and other feminine beauty enhancers, never seen her anything less than immaculate.

She put down her napkin and looked at him. "My, but you look very serious, Georg. What is it?"

He blinked and smiled at her a little. "Nothing of any importance, my dear." He stood and offered her his arm. "Shall we?"

"Certainly."

"I have rather neglected you during your stay, haven't I?"

"Oh, no, Georg, not at all. It's been a wonderful visit so far."

"Even if I've been leaving you to the tender mercies of Max and his idea of fun for much of the time?" he asked with a slight smile.

She laughed. "Max is outrageous but you know he amuses me. I completely understand that you need to spend time with your children. They're absolutely delightful."

His smile softened automatically at the mention of his children. "They are incorrigible imps," he responded but knew he hadn't been able to keep the affection and the pride out of his voice.

She laughed softly, her eyes shining up at him, and he lifted her hand to his lips to kiss it in a gallant gesture.

"It is good to see you here, in your home, with your children, darling. You're much more at ease here than you are in Vienna."

"More at home with my children than with all your gossiping friends, Elsa? Why, whatever gave you that idea?" he quipped.

"I do wonder how you've managed to spend so much time away, Georg. It's so lovely here."

"Well, Vienna does have certain lovely distractions of its own," he made answer lightly. He did not feel comfortable admitting that for so long, all the beauty of his home, the company of his children, had meant so little, that he hadn't allowed himself to appreciate it all.

"I do hope I'm one of those distractions," Elsa smiled as she sat down.

"But of course you are," he told her truthfully.

She gave him another smile as she pulled out what looked like some pamphlets and other pieces of paper with her handwriting on it. "Now, these are the choices for the music and for the dinner menu. I rather liked this orchestra and this choice for dinner. What do you think, darling?"

He gave the papers only a cursory glance. He knew precious little about the different orchestras and even less about what went into a proper dinner menu for a party. "I am sure anything you choose will be just fine," he answered quickly.

"You haven't even looked at them," Elsa protested laughingly.

"I have every faith in your ability to organize a party and be a perfect hostess," he said lightly.

She dipped her head a little in acknowledgment, a pleased smile curving her lips.

The perfect hostess… He meant the words; she would be the perfect hostess. What he did not know and had not decided was whether she would be as perfect a wife—or a mother. He was aware that hosting this party and, moreover, permitting Elsa to act as his hostess in the eyes of society, would be sending a tacit message of his intentions to everyone. In hosting this first party since Agathe's death in Elsa's honor and in allowing Elsa to play the role of his hostess, a role that would, usually, be played by his wife, he would be seen as making an implicit announcement that Elsa was going to be the next Baroness Von Trapp.

Somehow, the title struck him with unwarranted force, giving him pause. Baroness Von Trapp—the title that had been Agathe's for so many years. Agathe's title, Agathe's _name_… Could he truly have Elsa take Agathe's name, Agathe's place in his life, by his side?

He was suddenly filled with a wave of doubt, stronger than anything he'd felt before in thinking about marrying Elsa. He cared for Elsa, even loved her in a way, he knew—but to give her the title that had been Agathe's… He couldn't imagine it, somehow.

Elsa was Elsa—Agathe had been… everything… his first love, his wife, the mother of his children… It wasn't that he expected to replace Agathe; she was, would always be, irreplaceable.

And yet…

He wanted a wife. He was conscious of that. It was… a lonely existence, even with his children. Just how lonely he had only recently realized along with his realization about how much he had closed himself off from his children these past couple years.

But did he want Elsa to be his wife, the woman to spend the rest of his days and his nights with?

He didn't know, the question leaving him in an uncharacteristic paralysis, indecisive and uncertain of himself in a way that was unprecedented for him. He was used to being in command, was not given to indecision, but in this matter, he was undecided, could not seem to decide.

He started a little at the rather distant sound of a door slamming and then running footsteps followed by indistinct shouting.

He suppressed a sigh and frowned a little as he stood up. "I'm sorry, Elsa, but it sounds like I need to see what my children are up to."

"Of course, darling."

He pressed her shoulder briefly by way of apology as he left, walking swiftly towards the children's schoolroom.

"Kurt Von Trapp, bring that back here!" Brigitta yelled.

There was the sound of running footsteps and then Kurt almost flew blindly past him and Georg reached out quickly, grabbing Kurt's arm.

"Kurt!"

His voice was unconsciously strict, harsher than it had been in weeks, the way he'd often spoken to them before, and the effect on the boy was immediate.

Kurt immediately straightened up, his expression sobering and—Georg frowned a little—there was the slightest flicker of… apprehension… in the boy's eyes.

The Captain felt a small pang; surely his children were not still frightened of him? He suddenly heard Fraulein Maria's voice in his head: _They fear you too much. _

He forcibly gentled his tone and released his grip on Kurt's arm. "Now, Kurt, what is all this?"

Kurt almost visibly hesitated before he opened his lips but before he could speak, Brigitta came running up, only to almost skid to a halt at the sight of her father.

"Kurt, you—Father!"

Georg gave her a brief glance before returning his attention to his son. "Kurt," he prompted.

"I- er- ran off with the book Brigitta was reading, sir," Kurt confessed bravely. "It was my fault."

Georg turned to Brigitta. "Brigitta?"

"Yes, Father. I'm sorry for shouting."

Georg flinched a little at how subdued she sounded, more subdued than she'd sounded in weeks, all her usual spirit quenched. And any annoyance he might have felt over her shouting died as quickly as it had been born. "It's not your fault, Brigitta. I confess I would probably have done the same in your situation," he added, trying to coax a smile from her.

Brigitta's eyes flashed up to his and he was amply rewarded to see the beginnings of a smile curve her lips.

"Now, Kurt," the Captain said, sobering.

Kurt needed no further urging and handed the book he'd been holding to Brigitta. "Here. I'm sorry for taking your book, Brigitta."

Brigitta smiled a little, accepting the book. "That's alright."

Georg gave his daughter a slight, approving nod and smile, putting his hand on her shoulder. "Now, where is Fraulein Maria in all this?"

Brigitta's and Kurt's relieved expressions immediately froze as they both looked up at him. "Oh, it's not her fault, Father!" they both burst out.

He glanced at them in surprise—not at how protective they were of their governess but at the fact that they still, apparently, felt some need to protect her, from him, at least. Clearly, they had no idea just how much Fraulein Maria had charmed him—even against his will—and how he was beginning to feel as if there had never been a time when she hadn't been there, could not imagine the villa without her now… "I have no intention of blaming her."

"Good," Kurt said stoutly and Georg suppressed a smile at his son's boldness.

He followed as Brigitta and Kurt filed back into their schoolroom.

Fraulein Maria was sitting by Gretl, with Gretl nestled up next to her governess, one hand being held in both of Fraulein Maria's—and, the Captain noticed, one of Gretl's fingers was bandaged which immediately answered his question of where Fraulein Maria had been.

"Kurt, I hope you--" she began and then looked up to see them and made as if to stand up but Georg waved a quick hand. "No, no, there's no need to stand." He smiled a little. "I just wanted to see what the children were up to."

He knelt down in front of Gretl, trying very hard not to notice how near this brought him to Fraulein Maria, as he focused all his attention on his daughter. "What happened to your finger, darling?"

"I cut it," she said simply, oddly matter-of-factly. If she had cried over it, clearly her tears were gone and she'd been adequately comforted.

"Oh." He took the hand which Gretl had freed from Fraulein Maria's to show him and kissed the bandaged finger. "Will you be alright, darling?"

"Yes, Father. Fraulein Maria made it all better."

He straightened up, although he kept his gaze on Gretl. "Did she?"

Gretl snuggled back against Fraulein Maria's side, slipping her arm confidingly around her governess. "Fraulein Maria makes everything better," she said simply.

He saw Fraulein Maria's arm tighten around Gretl and glanced up at her to catch the wistful, tender expression in her eyes as she looked at his youngest daughter and something about the look caught at his heart.

"Does she, indeed?" he murmured softly, half-absently. "Well, that's good then." He forcibly pulled his gaze away from Gretl and Fraulein Maria to glance around at his other children. "I hope you will all behave for Fraulein Maria."

"Yes, Father," they all chorused at the same time as Fraulein Maria spoke up. "Oh, I'm sure they will, Captain. They generally do."

"I am glad to hear it. If they continue to do so, they may take the rest of the day off from studying after lunch."

He sensed rather than saw the smiles dawning on his children's faces as he kept his eyes on that of their governess as she smiled, meeting his gaze as forthrightly as usual. "I'm sure they will enjoy that, Captain."

"Good." He gave her a nod before he walked out, after a last glance at Gretl and the utterly trusting way in which she was nestled next to Fraulein Maria.

It was one of the most touching images he could ever recall seeing. They looked like a mother and daughter, he thought with a surge of tenderness— and at the moment, he couldn't tell whether the tenderness was more for Gretl or for Fraulein Maria.

Gretl wouldn't remember Agathe at all, since Agathe had died when Gretl had been less than three years old. He was fairly sure that Marta would have some faint memories of Agathe but not Gretl. Gretl, alone, could have no memory of her mother, had only known governesses in her life—and for much of her life, too, had known very little of her father, he thought with a fresh pang of guilt.

He had been more indulgent with Gretl than he had been with his other children, because she had been the youngest, but even so, he knew he hadn't been the father he should have been to her. He was only fortunate in the resilience and innocence of her childhood that made her so quick to trust, so quick to forgive and forget the past years.

"Fraulein Maria makes everything better," she had said—and he suddenly remembered a time, years ago, when Liesl had fallen and scraped her knee and she'd gone running for Agathe, rather unconsciously rejecting her father in the process, explaining tearfully that her mother would make it better again.

Fraulein Maria had become, in many ways, the mother Gretl had never known. He suddenly wondered what would happen to Gretl when it came time for Fraulein Maria to leave—but then dismissed the worry. She would have all her brothers and sisters there and he would, of course, be there for her and he would be more involved in his children's lives. Gretl would be fine.

He didn't want to think about just why he found the thought of Fraulein Maria leaving so distasteful. It could only be a concern for his children's sake, he told himself. And yet…

And yet, he could not find his reasoning very convincing.

He had grown to like Fraulein Maria, entirely apart from his gratitude to her for how good she was with his children. He enjoyed her company, enjoyed her spirit and her humor; he liked her kindness and her honesty. He would miss hearing her lovely voice singing around the house, would miss her smile and her laughter…

He abruptly stopped his thoughts, realizing just where his thoughts had wandered—when he should be spending the morning with Elsa, no less.

Fraulein Maria was entirely too dangerous for his peace of mind. He should avoid her as much as possible—but how to do so without also denying himself his children? He couldn't. After all, his children were the most important thing and while he was with them, he would simply have to be more careful not to single Fraulein Maria out for any attention.

He would focus on his children—only his children—and treat Fraulein Maria with the same detachment as he had the other governesses. Surely that could not be so difficult to do.

_~To be continued…_


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

Author's Note: Apologies for the long wait but I've been on my spring break and distracted with RL. As promised, more Maria/Georg interaction in this chapter. Enjoy!

**Something Good**

_Chapter 5_

The Captain stared broodingly out the window, blind to all the beauties of the sunny day, only conscious of this growing unease, as if this were the calm before a storm, and a sense of frustration and futility, as if he were trying to single-handedly keep a wave from retreating back to the sea.

Hitler had made more demands and it increasingly looked as if Schusnigg was willing to give Hitler anything he asked for, up to and including Austria itself.

He felt a sudden, sick pang of loss; he was losing his country, he thought. He suddenly remembered the words from the _Edelweiss_ song, which he'd sung so blithely just weeks ago: _bless my homeland forever._ But what could a song and a little white flower do when Austria's people were somehow willing to give up their own country without a fight?

Austria- his homeland, his country, his world… It was all disappearing, the world changing around him. He could feel the threat of the Anschluss coming and knew he was powerless to prevent it from happening. The shadow and the power of the Third Reich was growing and Schusnigg had shown little evidence of any resolve to resist it.

_Anschluss_. He detested the very word. It was not an alliance unless it was the sort of "alliance" a fox might make with a hen, just before devouring it.

His hand clenched into a fist unconsciously. He tried but he could not understand how people could speak so willingly of simply giving their country up to invaders. Oh, the Nazis were careful not to speak like invaders but it was what they were and to simply give in to them, to give up without a fight—it was something inconceivable to him.

How could people value Austria so lightly? Austria—the country he had fought for, had risked his life for…

He thought of the picnic up on the Untersburg, of Friedrich and Kurt with all their youthful energy, of his daughters, so young, so fresh, so innocent… He did not want them growing up under the shadow of the Third Reich. He'd wanted them to grow up in the Austria he'd grown up in, the Austria he'd fought for, the beautiful country he loved so well.

But he was beginning to realize more every day that his wish for his children would never come true. Austria was being lost for them before they'd even had a chance to know it as he did…

The Captain was abruptly startled from his melancholy thoughts with the sound of someone humming snatches of some unfamiliar tune.

He turned slightly, distracted, to listen more closely.

He heard Fraulein Maria—of course it was Fraulein Maria; no one else would be humming and he recognized her voice-- hum a little more and then a brief pause and then the humming began again, a little absently, this time, and slower. He could not recognize the tune but found he was smiling to himself as he listened.

He didn't know how it was that just listening to Fraulein Maria hum could lift his mood so effectively but, somehow, it did. He could see her bright smile in his mind and realized with some surprise that it was almost impossible to remain gloomy in the face of her smile.

After all, the Anschluss had not happened yet—and his children were still young, still carefree, still safe…

Moving quietly, he walked over to where the sitting room opened onto the main entrance hall, stopping where he could just see Fraulein Maria.

He stilled, on some impulse he couldn't identify, and simply watched her, with growing curiosity.

She was… standing quite still, staring at the steps leading up to the front entrance, and then she abruptly pivoted, so her back was to the stairs, stepping forward slowly before she stopped and turned back around. It was quite the oddest performance he had ever seen and he watched with growing amusement and another emotion he couldn't quite put a name to except that it was something warm and strong and intense.

There was something so utterly charming—no, more than charming-- it was irresistible how unself-conscious she was as she hummed to herself. _She_ was irresistible…

Another something she learned at the Abbey, perhaps, he thought to himself with a spurt of amusement.

She moved to stand on the steps, the humming resuming, and then—he blinked—he could swear he'd heard her sing, softly, "Cuckoo."

He couldn't help it; he burst out laughing and stepped forward.

"Tell me, Fraulein, is this some sort of ritual you learned at the Abbey?"

She visibly started, a blush starting in her cheeks. "Captain! Oh, I- I didn't realize you were there."

"Well, you seemed quite engrossed."

She blushed again, the self-consciousness that had been noticeably absent before plain to be seen in her flushed cheeks. "I was thinking of something else."

"Do tell, Fraulein. You find me suffering from the most insatiable curiosity to know what it was you were thinking of just now." He spoke lightly but then realized, belatedly, that humorous or not, he really did mean the words. He did want to know what she was thinking of, not just now but at other times as well. He was, he realized, very curious about her, suddenly wanted to know more about her past, how she'd ended up at the Abbey, what had made her decide to become a nun, what her dreams were… He suddenly found himself wanting to know what made her happy and sad, what made her laugh, how she could be so young and laughing some moments and then surprisingly thoughtful and even wise in others… It was startling how much he wanted to know. He didn't think he'd ever felt this sort of consuming need to know someone else's thoughts, had always been content as long as others did not intrude upon his own peace of mind too much. But Fraulein Maria, as he was beginning to realize more with every day, was _different_, unique—as was his reaction to her…

"I was thinking of the children, Captain."

"And what thoughts of my children can make someone begin to dance?"

"It was an idea I had yesterday evening for the children to say, goodnight, at the party."

"Let me guess," he said teasingly. "Will it involve yodeling?"

Fraulein Maria laughed, her eyes lighting up and sparkling with humor—she was so… beautiful when she smiled…

"I refuse to say anything more about it, Captain. I am planning for it to be a surprise."

"They are my children," he protested in mock indignation. "As their father, do I not have the right to know what you have planned for them?"

"You will discover what I have planned for your children on the night of the party and no sooner," she informed him with a distinctly cheeky smile.

Her eyes sparkled with something like mischief and she looked, for a moment, very young and very girlish as he returned her smile, unable to resist it. And on an impulse, before he'd realized what he was going to do, he lifted one hand to touch his fingers to her cheek, just as he might do to Liesl or Louisa.

The moment seemed to freeze in time as he abruptly realized with something like a shock that Fraulein Maria was not a girl and she was most definitely not to be treated as he would treat his daughters. He sensed rather than heard her breath catch in her throat, saw the hot blush cover her face, her eyes suddenly very wide and dark with some reaction he couldn't identify, didn't dare identify. He stared at her, his eyes taking in every detail of her face, her deep blue eyes, her straight nose, the few very faint freckles across her cheeks, her lips… He couldn't breathe, couldn't move, was frozen in that moment, with his fingers still brushing her cheek… And all he was conscious of was a sudden impulse to move his hand to cup her cheek, caress her soft skin.

She was, he thought dazedly, simply the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen… And he… he wanted her…

He had no idea how long the moment lasted as he stared, his fingers still brushing her cheek…

And then from upstairs, he heard the sound of a door opening and it startled him out of his little trance.

He hastily dropped his hand, turning slightly away from her, feeling decidedly uncomfortable. "I- ah- what do you have planned for the children today?" he asked and then inwardly winced at how stiff and cool his voice sounded in his attempt to hide his own lingering reaction to the moment, in an attempt to seem quite unaffected, as if nothing had happened.

Not that anything really _had_ happened, he told himself. It had been just a moment, probably not more than a few seconds at most. He'd treated her the way he would Liesl or Louisa, he told himself—except the lie fell flat even as he thought it. He hadn't treated her as he would his daughters, didn't think of her as a child, and certainly hadn't reacted to her as if she were a child.

She, too, had turned away, busying herself with picking at some invisible flecks on her skirt, but he could see the hectic color on her cheeks.

"The children will have their lessons in the morning, as usual," she began, her voice low and oddly subdued as she addressed the floor rather than him.

He felt an odd pang of something like guilt. She was so… innocent, he suddenly thought. She was a postulant, had spent the past few years of her life in a convent; she had no knowledge or experience of men… It was endearing—but it also made his own behavior the more blameworthy.

However attractive he might find her—and he did find her attractive, altogether too attractive—he should not show it, entirely aside from what he owed to Elsa. The last thing he would want to do would be to make her uncomfortable around him. If anything, he wanted to ensure that she was always as delightfully unself-conscious and candid around him and seeing her so subdued and clearly ill at ease made his heart clench a little.

He opened his lips intending to apologize or say something reassuring but before he could, before he even knew what he was going to say, he heard steps and looked up.

"Good morning, Father. Good morning, Fraulein Maria," Brigitta smiled and he wondered when it had happened that his daughter's smile seemed so much brighter when she looked at her governess than at her own father.

He gave her a smile, moving to greet her with a quick kiss on her temple. "Good morning, darling. Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, Father."

"Are your sisters awake?" he asked.

She nodded. "They're just getting ready and Liesl is braiding Gretl's hair."

"Oh, I should go up and help her then," Fraulein Maria spoke up and suited her action to her words and hurried up the stairs.

He watched her go with the beginnings of a frown—she really was ill at ease now, he thought guiltily, in stark contrast to her innocent unself-consciousness earlier—before he remembered himself and returned his gaze to Brigitta, who had a thoughtful look on her face as she turned from watching Fraulein Maria's hasty escape—there was no other word for it—to study him.

He suddenly remembered Fraulein Maria saying, "Brigitta could tell you about him, if you'd let her get close to you. She notices everything."

It was true, he'd realized in these past weeks. Brigitta had grown up in the past few years when he hadn't realized and she was more observant than his other children, tended to be more introspective.

He would need to be more careful of his behavior around Fraulein Maria, not only for its own sake but because of Brigitta.

"What are you reading these days, Brigitta?" he asked in what was, even to him, a pitifully transparent change of subject.

A flicker of something like amusement crossed her face before she answered, "I'm reading '_A Tale of Two Cities' _by Herr Charles Dickens now, Father."

"Ah." He thought for a moment and then quoted, "It was the best of times; it was the worst of times…"

Brigitta was staring at him with quite unflattering surprise. "Why, Father!"

He gave her a look of mock offense. "Do you think your father such an ill-educated boor, Brigitta?"

She laughed, dimpling up at him. "Of course not, Father."

"I do read, you know."

She gave him a quick grin. "I know, Father. I've seen your library."

He returned her smile. "And how are you enjoying Herr Dickens' novel?"

"Very much so far, Father. It is quite exciting and it is beautifully written."

"Yes, it is. The beginning and the ending of the book in particular, as I recall."

" 'It was the age of wisdom; it was the age of foolishness…'" Brigitta began slowly, thoughtfully, trying to remember.

" 'It was the epoch of belief; it was the epoch of incredulity; it was the season of Light; it was the season of Darkness…'" he joined in and she smiled at him.

"It sounds like poetry, doesn't it, Father?"

"Yes, it does. I believe that's why I remember it even now."

"Do you like poetry, Father?"

"Some poetry, yes." He thought, but couldn't quite bring himself to say, that it had been Agathe who had really made him begin appreciating poetry. Agathe had loved poetry, had said it was like music put into words.

He felt the familiar swell of grief at the thought of Agathe but found that it was somewhat less intense than it had been, the grief less sharp and searing. It was a surprising realization and it was, he reflected, thanks in large part to Fraulein Maria, to his new relationship with his children.

He returned his gaze to Brigitta, filled with a wave of poignant affection for this daughter of his, who had grown so much, become so thoughtful. He lifted his hand to touch her cheek lightly in a quick gesture of affection and she flashed him a smile, reaching up to grasp his hand in her own as he lowered it.

"I am very glad that you like to read so much," he told her quietly. "It is a good habit to have."

She smiled at him and opened her lips to respond but before she could, there was the sound of a door opening and then the clattering of footsteps as Kurt came running downstairs.

"Good morning, Father!" Kurt greeted Georg with characteristic spirit and Georg couldn't help but smile at his irrepressible son.

"Good morning, Kurt."

Kurt smiled sunnily at his father. "I'm hungry. Is breakfast ready?"

Georg laughed, reaching over to pat Kurt teasingly on the stomach. "When are you not hungry, my boy? I declare you eat enough to feed a shipful of sailors." He glanced over at Brigitta. "Doesn't he, Brigitta?"

She laughed. "Yes, he does eat an awful lot."

"I'm a growing boy," Kurt protested. "I need to eat a lot if I'm ever going to grow up to be as tall as you are, Father."

Georg smiled. "At the rate you are eating, I would think you will grow to be much taller than I am in no time. Is there a famine coming?" he quipped.

"Father!" Kurt tried to protest but he couldn't help but laugh as well and Georg ruffled the boy's hair. Kurt was the sunniest-natured of all his children, although where the boy had gotten his exuberance was a mystery to Georg.

"Good morning, Father. Good morning, Brigitta," Friedrich's voice was heard just before he appeared, hurrying down the steps.

And then, as if in a high-pitched echo, came a chorus of "Good morning, Father" and Georg looked up to see the rest of his children come down the staircase, Marta and Gretl holding Fraulein Maria's hand as they almost scampered down the stairs.

"Good morning, my dears," he said, smiling at all his daughters in turn and drawing Louisa to him to kiss her temple.

He carefully kept his gaze away from Fraulein Maria and on his children as he asked, "What do you all have planned for this afternoon?"

They all turned to look at Fraulein Maria expectantly and she smiled before saying, "Well, as it looks like such a nice day today, I was thinking of taking the boat out onto the lake again. How does that sound?"

His children reacted with smiles and a jumble of cheerful agreement.

"Do try not to fall in this time," he raised his voice slightly to be heard above his children's voices, silencing them immediately.

"We'll be careful, Father," Liesl said immediately.

"We only fell in last time because we were so surprised to see you that we stood up," Friedrich spoke up at almost the same moment.

He laughed a little. "I see, so it was my fault."

"Of course," Friedrich grinned at him.

"I was thinking," Kurt spoke up, addressing Fraulein Maria, "of something I want to do."

"What is it, Kurt?" Fraulein Maria asked.

Kurt gave him a quick glance before he said, in a rush, "I want to have a pillow fight."

Fraulein Maria visibly hesitated before she said, "Well, I think your father would have to agree to that." She turned to look fully at him for the first time since coming down, although he noticed, with a small pang, that she didn't quite meet his eyes as she did so. "Captain, may the children have a pillow fight?"

"Oh, yes, please, Father!" Brigitta, Louisa, and Friedrich all chimed in.

"May we?" Marta asked.

He looked around at his children's faces and then at their governess, his mind flashing back to that first night of the thunderstorm when he had interrupted their nocturnal play and how Fraulein Maria had tried to mask her discomposure with a forcibly casual, "Hello." He suddenly wanted to laugh at the memory and he realized at that moment that he was going to give in.

Another of his rules broken, he thought resignedly, that of the children's bedtime, but he couldn't bring himself to regret it either. His children were so much happier now, so much more at ease with him. _He_ was so much happier now…

"Very well, you may have a pillow fight."

Her gaze flew up to meet his and he saw the surprise flash in Fraulein Maria's eyes before she blurted out, "Really, Captain?"

That startled a few laughs out of his children and he couldn't help but smile. Clearly, the surprise she felt had entirely replaced any lingering self-consciousness she might feel and he was glad of it. He would, he reflected, have been willing to agree to much more than a simple pillow fight if it would ensure that Fraulein Maria was always so delightfully candid around him.

"Yes, really. But," he added, cutting across his children's enthusiastic response, "only for half an hour and then you must go to bed."

"Yes, Father."

"We will, Father!"

His children trooped into breakfast quite happily, leaving him to follow behind them, wondering, half-idly, how it had happened that he had agreed to such a thing as a pillow fight. What was he letting himself in for?

The answer to that question came quickly enough that evening once Fraulein Maria stood up, saying, with her usual, affectionate smile at the children, "Children, it's bed-time now."

And for once in his life, Kurt almost leaped up from where he'd been lying on the floor. "Hurrah!"

His children laughed even as they quickly—even absently—wished him a good night and then scampered off.

Max gave him a questioning look. "I don't believe the children have ever been so glad to go to bed before. What has happened?"

He resisted the impulse to shift uncomfortably as he returned Max's gaze. "I gave the children permission to have a pillow fight tonight," he said as austerely as possible.

"You are allowing a pillow fight?" Max stared and then glanced away, muttering, "I wonder, is there anything Fraulein Maria can't persuade you into doing?"

He stiffened, his gaze becoming glacial. "As a matter of fact," he clipped out in a tone meant to quell any further discussion, "it was Kurt who asked for it this morning, seconded by all the children, so I gave in." Which was, of course, the literal truth if not the whole truth of it, since he was guiltily aware of the fact that had Fraulein Maria not been there, had he not still been a little discomposed from that fleeting moment with her earlier, he might not have relented. But he hardly wanted Max speculating about Fraulein Maria; she deserved better than to be made the object of any idle gossip.

"What an indulgent father you are, darling," he heard Elsa's voice say with deliberate lightness, trying to dispel the sudden tension in the room, and he turned to smile at her, searching her eyes for some sign of reaction to Max's mention of Fraulein Maria but finding none—but then, Elsa was remarkably adept at hiding her thoughts when she needed to be, he knew.

"I will take that as a compliment," he returned with a smile that tried to be perfectly easy.

Elsa reached over to put her hand on his arm briefly. "Of course it's a compliment, Georg," she laughed lightly.

He smiled at her, feeling a fresh wave of guilt over his unruly attraction to Fraulein Maria, but was distracted in another moment as the pillow fight began, as evidenced by the audible cries and shrieks and laughter.

He glanced up to see Frau Schmidt passing the open door with a quick step and belatedly realized that he had not warned Frau Schmidt or Franz of the pillow fight and hastily stood up. "Excuse me for a moment, Elsa, Max. I must tell Frau Schmidt before she decides the children are being attacked."

He left the room quickly, striding out of the room. "Frau Schmidt."

She turned. "Yes, Captain. I was just about to go to the children."

He managed a slight smile. "There is no need for that. I gave the children permission to have a pillow fight so that is the cause of all the noise. I should have mentioned it earlier."

Frau Schmidt's expression softened into a smile. "Very good, Captain. It is nice to hear the children laughing, sir."

"Yes, it is. Good night."

"Good night, Captain."

She left, heading down the corridor towards the kitchens, leaving him in the entrance hall. He knew he should return to Elsa and Max but the sound of the children's laughter drew him like a lodestone and he found himself climbing the stairs towards the children's rooms almost before he realized it.

As he reached the top step, the door to the children's rooms flew open to be followed by a flying pillow that was hastily retrieved by Brigitta who then ran back into the room, quite oblivious to him.

His steps paused as he heard the sound of a familiar laugh ring out and he found himself smiling involuntarily as he realized that Fraulein Maria was not only supervising the pillow fight but apparently joining in it.

He stopped in the hallway where he could just see into the children's rooms but could not be seen himself unless someone looked directly at him, not wanting to disturb his children in their fun but unable to keep himself from watching.

It was apparent that Fraulein Maria had divided the children up into teams, with herself, Kurt, Gretl and Liesl on one, and Friedrich, Louisa, Brigitta and Marta on the other. Pillows (and some escaping feathers) were flying around like huge snowflakes as the mock battle raged with spirit, while blows were given and received with enthusiasm. (It was a sight that, only weeks ago, would have horrified him to the depths of his order-loving soul—but tonight, he felt no horror, only an indulgent affection. As much as he loved order and discipline, he loved his children more.)

Kurt ducked a flying pillow thrown by Louisa and popped back up to return the missile with rather more success, hitting Brigitta, who shrieked with laughter, even as she cried, "Oh, I'll get you for that, Kurt!"

Fraulein Maria was joining in with as much enthusiasm as any of his children, her face flushed and laughing. And the sight of her in that moment hit him with enough force to take his breath.

She looked… utterly undignified and even though some corner of his brain rather thought he should be shocked at the sight of his children's governess engaging in a pillow fight of all things, shock was the last thing on his mind. Instead, he was utterly captivated, his heart suddenly filling with something like yearning. She was so… refreshing in her liveliness, so completely unaffected and natural. He didn't think he'd ever met anyone so transparent, so honest… She was so _good_… He remembered her saying that being too outspoken was one of her worst faults—and yes, she was outspoken, direct, but he could hardly call that a fault and he was beginning to doubt if she had any true faults, aside from having something of a temper. And even then, there wasn't a shred of meanness or harshness in her.

She looked up and then froze for a moment as she looked directly at him, her eyes meeting his. Her lips parted, no doubt to alert his children to his presence but he quickly shook his head a little and she nodded slightly, flashing him a quick smile before she was distracted by a pillow that went flying past her.

He tried to picture any other woman engaging in such an activity—and failed utterly. And even if another woman did engage in a pillow fight, he doubted they could do it without looking ridiculous. But Fraulein Maria, somehow, didn't look in the least ridiculous; she looked… lovely.

He deliberately tore his gaze away from Fraulein Maria, aware that he was once again moving into dangerous territory in his thoughts, focusing instead on the laughing faces of his children, flushed with exertion and fun. It was a precious sight; after all, allowing them this half-hour pillow fight was well worth it, just to see his children so happy.

He became belatedly aware that he had left Elsa and Max on their own and really should return to the sitting room and he turned away after a last look at his children's bright faces and a quick glance at Fraulein Maria and her radiant smile as she bent to say something to Gretl.

Max and Elsa both looked up as he returned to the room.

"It sounds as if the children are having a wonderful time," Elsa observed.

His expression softened automatically into a smile. "Yes, they are." And at that moment, he didn't know if the warmth in his chest was more from the knowledge of his children's happiness or from the memory of Fraulein Maria's smile; he was only conscious of the rush of affection he felt.

The allotted half-hour ended soon enough and the sound of laughter faded as the house assumed its usual quiet for this hour of the evening.

But the memory of his children's joy remained in his mind and he found he was still smiling some time later when he retired to his own bedroom for the night.

And for the first time, he forgot to think about Agathe as he prepared for bed, remembering, instead, his children's bright faces and that of their governess during the pillow fight…

_~To be continued…~_


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

Author's Note: Thank you, everyone, who's read this story, added it to their Favorites list, and reviewed it. I appreciate every one. Enjoy!

**Something Good**

_Chapter 6_

The house was very silent. Unusually, surprisingly silent—as silent as it had ever been before the advent of Fraulein Maria.

He had always before appreciated the silence, thought it was peaceful, orderly. Now, though, the silence struck him as cold, even dreary. After weeks of the almost-constant sound of his children's talking and laughing and singing, the silence was jarring.

He frowned a little, realizing, too, that it had been silent for quite a while now, more than an hour. He had not, in fact, seen or heard anything of his children since lunchtime.

Where could the children have gone? Surely Fraulein Maria would not have taken them out on an excursion without mentioning it?

Not, he realized, that he felt any real concern. Wherever his children were, they would be with their governess and he was a little surprised to realize just how much he trusted her. With any of the other governesses, he might have been more wary—not that any of the other governesses had ever allowed the children out of the villa's grounds, claiming the children were too unruly to ever be allowed out—but with Fraulein Maria, he felt no concern. He trusted her, not only to keep his children safe but to keep them _happy_.

No, it wasn't concern he felt but simple curiosity. And he found he missed hearing his children's voices; he had grown so accustomed to hearing them somewhere around the house in these past couple weeks that now, this silence seemed unnatural.

He went upstairs to check in their bedrooms, although he knew that they would not be there, and then back down again.

"Frau Schmidt," he paused, addressing his housekeeper as he passed her.

"Yes, Captain?"

"Do you know where the children are?"

Her eyes softened a little, although her expression remained as properly reserved as before. "Yes, Captain. I believe they are in one of the back sitting rooms with Fraulein Maria."

He nodded. "Thank you."

She dipped her head to him. "Of course, Captain."

He strode through the house towards the rear sitting rooms, his steps slowing unconsciously as he neared them and heard the muffled sound of voices—or more specifically, of Fraulein Maria's voice.

He paused and then moved closer to the closed door from behind which he could hear her voice, his steps ceasing as he simply listened for a moment. With the door closed, he couldn't quite understand the words but he found that he didn't mind just hearing the tones of her voice through the door, at least for the moment. She had a lovely voice, so expressive and warm and affectionate and vibrant… Still muffled, he heard her sing a few lines of a tune that sounded vaguely familiar before he realized it was what she'd been humming the other morning.

He heard the equally muffled voices of his children, echoing the tune Fraulein Maria had just sung, and then a burst of laughter. He smiled to himself, picturing Fraulein Maria the other morning when she had been planning for this. He wondered what she had planned for the children now; he was sure it would be wonderful. And, of course, his children would listen and participate with enthusiasm.

He was, still, a little amazed when he thought of how quickly Fraulein Maria had, apparently, managed to win his children's affection and obedience, far quicker and more successfully than any of the previous governesses—but then, she was so different from every other governess. More affectionate, more fun, more indulgent…

There was a moment of silence and then the muffled voice of Fraulein Maria directing followed by more muffled singing and then another burst of laughter.

The sound seemed to wrap around his heart and propel him forward, even without conscious thought and he found himself reaching out and opening the door of the room.

His children were standing in a haphazard line facing Fraulein Maria, whose laughing face froze as she saw him.

"Captain!"

His children whirled around. "Father!"

He gave them a general smile. "Hello. I was wondering where you had disappeared to. The house had become rather suspiciously quiet."

"We're not into any mischief, Father," Liesl spoke up.

"Of course not. You children are never into mischief," he responded half-humorously and his children smiled somewhat sheepishly. "I was only curious what you were up to."

"We are practicing, Captain, for a surprise." Fraulein Maria explained with a quick smile.

He feigned innocence. "A surprise, really?"

"Yes, Father, so you shouldn't be here," Marta spoke up, her tone almost scolding.

"But it sounds as if you children are enjoying yourselves so much," he smiled at his daughter. "May I at least watch?" he asked with rather exaggerated hopefulness.

Marta giggled. "No, Father."

And then to his surprise, his shy, little daughter actually came up to him and physically turned him around and almost marched him out the door. With his cooperation, of course, as Marta was not using what little, insignificant strength she had, but still, it was a surprise. He saw some of what he was feeling reflected in his children's and in Fraulein Maria's expressions and feigned helplessness as he threw a wink at Kurt, making the boy laugh.

Marta didn't stop until he was well outside the door. "Now, Father, go play with Uncle Max or the Baroness. We have to practice."

"And you really won't give your own father even a hint of what it is you're practicing?"

Marta shook her head quite firmly, although her expression was bright and happy and she looked as far from stern as possible. "Fraulein Maria said it was a surprise so we shouldn't tell anyone, not even you, Father."

"Of course," he murmured. "And you all must listen to Fraulein Maria, mustn't you?"

Marta gave him a wide-eyed look of innocent surprise, as if the idea of not listening to Fraulein Maria was quite unthinkable. "Of course, Father," she said matter-of-factly.

"Will you at least give me a hint?" he asked cajolingly and only half-seriously.

Marta shook her head. "No, Father. But you'll like it."

"Very well, then. Run off to your practice," he said indulgently, stooping to kiss her forehead.

Marta beamed at him and ran back into the room, closing the door firmly behind her.

Georg was left quite alone once again in the hallway, staring at the closed door. He suddenly, desperately, wished he could be on the other side of that door, wanted to watch his children and Fraulein Maria.

It was almost amazing to remember how he had been used to spend most of the day without seeing his children except at meal-times and now, he was feeling ridiculously disappointed that they were too engrossed in practicing whatever it was Fraulein Maria had planned for them to spend any time with him.

He thought of Marta and how she'd almost literally pushed him out of the room and had to smile. It was truly wonderful how his shy, little Marta had blossomed so much. She was still quieter than the others but she was no longer nearly as timid and had certainly lost almost all signs of timidity when she was only with the family and with Fraulein Maria.

He was suddenly filled with poignant pride for his daughter—and an equally strong surge of gratitude for Fraulein Maria. What did he not owe to her, he wondered? She had given him his children back, given him his life back. He remembered saying to Elsa that activity suggested a life filled with purpose, which was true, and he had used his frequent trips to Vienna, used business, as an excuse to pretend his life was complete and meaningful and it was only in these past few weeks that he realized just how hollow it had all been. And how different it all was now.

The entire house seemed a brighter, happier place. It had, he thought, truly become a _home_ again, instead of a place where painful memories lived and from where he felt an almost constant need to escape.

His steps slowed for a moment as he paused to look around, taking in the house around him, trying to see it from the eyes of a stranger. It was a large house, luxuriously and finely appointed, but it had also been a cold house, seeming rather empty, in the years after Agathe had died. There had been times in the past few years when he'd even felt he hated the house, hated it for the ghost of Agathe that seemed to haunt him, hated it for the cold emptiness of it.

Now, though, he felt a rush of warmth as he looked around. This was his _home_, where he'd grown up, where he'd been married from and where he'd spent those happy years with Agathe, where all his children had been born—and, yes, where Agathe had died too.

He glanced back at the closed door of the sitting room where his children and Fraulein Maria were. Fraulein Maria had done more than just bring music and laughter back into the house, he thought; she had made the house a home again. And he was as much in her debt for that as he was for how she'd let him see what he'd been missing in not interacting with his children much.

He heard the faint sound of Elsa's laughter from one of the more formal drawing rooms and turned his steps in that direction. He should be spending more time with her, a resolve made all the easier by the fact that his children were, for once, occupied in something that required his absence.

~*~

Later that afternoon, Georg leaned back in his chair, feeling the simple contentment of the day settle over him.

He, Elsa and Max were seated on the terrace around the table, enjoying an afternoon snack—he and Elsa had contented themselves with iced tea and a streudel, while Max was still eating streudel, his fourth, Georg believed.

He turned to smile at Elsa, a smile which she returned, as she leaned back, lighting a cigarette.

"Georg, I don't know if you'll have heard but Baron Haussman had a child just last month, another daughter."

"Oh, did he?" he responded, the polite response automatic, although for a moment, he had to think to remember who Baron Haussman was before he remembered the gentleman as one he had met a few times at Elsa's parties as the Baron's wife was the sister of one of Elsa's good friends. "That is good news."

Max leaned forward a little. "Yes, but if I recall correctly, the Baron himself was not at all pleased that it was another daughter as he did so want a son."

Elsa laughed a little. "Yes, the poor Baron was sadly disappointed. I did hear that the Baroness was quite upset over it."

Georg suppressed a frown. He disliked gossip at the best of times and this sort of gossip was distasteful. He remembered his own joy when each of his children had been born, remembered hanging over the cradles when his children had been babies and marveling at their tiny perfection. Each of his children had been little miracles…

As if the thought had summoned them, he heard his children's voices, chattering happily as they rushed outside, followed more slowly by Fraulein Maria.

"Good afternoon, Father, Uncle Max, Baroness," they chorused as they passed and he smiled at his children.

He watched as they surrounded Fraulein Maria out on the landing and, although he couldn't hear, he could guess that they were trying to decide what to do.

After a few moments, he saw them nod and then Brigitta ran off alone, no doubt to get something, while the others wandered, Louisa and Friedrich going over to peer into the lake, no doubt to see if they could spot any fish or, perhaps, a frog.

Brigitta came running back soon enough and Georg watched with some interest as she handed the skipping rope to Fraulein Maria.

His children formed a loose circle around Fraulein Maria as she took one end of the skipping rope in her hand, letting the rest of it trail on the ground, and then slowly, at first, she began to revolve. And then he realized the point of this game as his children jumped out of the way of the rope as Fraulein Maria turned, the skipping rope making a circle around her.

It was remarkably simple but very clever, a perfect way of involving all the children in the game, active enough to allow his children some freedom and yet not so active that his children would get excessively dirty and need to get cleaned up before dinner. It was, he reflected, very like Fraulein Maria to come up with such a thing. He had already noted how she was careful to include all his children in everything as much as possible, even as she singled each one out for attention in their turn.

He heard a shriek of laughter and saw that Friedrich hadn't jumped in time and so the skipping rope had half wrapped around his legs.

Friedrich untangled himself with a laugh and he replaced Fraulein Maria in the center of the circle.

He expected Fraulein Maria to retreat to the bench to watch but noted with some surprise and amusement that, no, she was taking a spot next to Gretl and Marta and, far from just settling back to be a spectator, was fully prepared to join in.

Of course she was prepared to join in. He should have expected as much, he thought with a flare of amusement and another still-warmer emotion he didn't care to put a name to. She was unlike every other governess his children had ever had in that she joined fully in with the children's fun and seemed to enjoy it all just as much as they did. She was delightful…

"Georg."

He turned at the sound of Elsa's voice saying his name. "Yes, my dear?"

She gave him an indulgent sort of smile. "Georg, I was just telling you and Max how Herr Schulhofer's son caused a scandal a few weeks ago by running off with an opera singer."

"Oh, did he?" he asked, mustering as much polite interest as he could.

"Yes, it was quite the scandal. Herr Schulhofer was beside himself and threatening to disown his son but I believe his wife persuaded him against that."

"Ah," he murmured, his gaze returning irresistibly to his children and his children's governess, an unconscious smile tugging at his lips as he watched Fraulein Maria jump over the skipping rope.

It was, he thought, one of the most disarming pictures he had ever seen and utterly charming. But then, he was beginning to wonder, was there anything Fraulein Maria said or did that he didn't find charming anymore?

"Georg."

He almost startled as he turned to Elsa again. "Yes, dear?"

She gave a rueful little laugh, glancing at Max. "Max, I do believe we are boring Georg. He is quite distracted today."

"Of course you are not boring me," he responded swiftly. "I apologize; I was lost in my thoughts." Or, more accurately, he reflected, with a pang of guilt, he had been utterly distracted by Fraulein Maria and his children from the moment they had appeared outside. He owed Elsa more than this sort of inattentiveness and resolved to give her his full attention from then on. "I'm afraid I don't recall how old Herr Schulhofer's son is," he said, summoning a slight smile.

"Oh, but that is part of what made the whole thing so scandalous," Elsa said, leaning forward a little as if imparting some grave secret. "The lad is barely 21 years old and to be running off with an opera singer… His poor mother was almost prostrate from shock when she heard of it."

"That is unfortunate," he said but couldn't help thinking that this sort of gossip was one of the few things about Elsa he found distasteful. She didn't gossip often when she was with him, knowing his dislike for it, but on occasion, she did enjoy gossiping, the more scandalous the better. It came with her love of society, he supposed, and he usually had more patience for it. But, somehow, at that moment, he found his tolerance for such gossip very low. Perhaps it was something about the fact that he was at home and not in Vienna, where he had become accustomed to the gossip that was simply a part of society there. But here, in his home, he was not at all used to gossip; certainly, Agathe had had no love of gossip and he saw very little (if anything) of Salzburg society while at home, preferring the quiet of his home.

Elsa leaned back in her chair. "Yes, it was an unfortunate episode, but I believe Herr Schulhofer has almost resigned himself to acknowledging his son's bride once they return to Vienna."

"Ah."

There was a brief silence, broken only by the sound of his children's laughter. He wished that he could be with his children or, at least, watching them as they played, instead of sitting here with Elsa and Max, but he hastily pushed aside that disloyal thought. He could hardly leave Elsa and Max alone now; it would be the height of rudeness to desert them so suddenly.

He suddenly wondered if this would be what his life would be like if he married Elsa—having to listen to the gossip she so enjoyed and feign polite interest. The thought left him suddenly feeling chilled.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, noting her usual elegance and beauty. She was a woman fit for a palace, for all the finest drawing rooms in Austria. She would be a sophisticated and capable mistress of this house, an eminently suitable wife for him in Society's eyes, he knew.

And yet, he hesitated with this uncharacteristic indecision. He truly did care for Elsa, was, as he'd told her, grateful to her as well. He did not love her but then he had already known one love and rather doubted he could ever feel that sort of love again. Agathe had been his love and he knew she could never be replaced.

He and Elsa could be happy together, he believed, content.

And yet… His gaze drifted to his children, seeing their smiling faces and hearing the cheerful sound of their voices and their laughter, before his eyes came to rest on Fraulein Maria. Fraulein Maria, who had turned his strictly-ordered existence onto its head and replaced it with a life of less discipline, certainly, but infinitely more laughter and more happiness. She had brought more than music back into the house; she had also brought _joy_.

After all, that was what gave him pause when he thought of marrying Elsa. He did not doubt that he would be content enough but would there be joy—and could he even expect joy when he knew he did not love Elsa as he had loved Agathe?

His unruly gaze wandered over to Fraulein Maria again, watching as she exchanged smiles with Brigitta and then put her arm around Gretl's shoulders.

And he wondered about that too—whether Elsa would be the mother his children needed. He had never really seen her around children before. She had not spent much time with his children on this visit but that was understandable enough as his children had been kept occupied by Fraulein Maria for the most part. But he remembered how Elsa had hugged Gretl to her after Gretl had given her the small bouquet of edelweiss that memorable afternoon after his argument with Fraulein Maria. They had made a charming picture—one he believed, and hoped, would be repeated if he married Elsa.

But he remembered how Gretl had snuggled up next to Fraulein Maria—and he wondered, doubted…

He glanced at Elsa again and her eyes met his, as she gave him a warm smile before she straightened up. "I believe I will have just one more of this delicious streudel. Georg, I hope you know that Cook is a treasure."

"She is, indeed," Max agreed. "I do believe I only invite myself here for the sake of the food."

"It's good to know how much you appreciate my company, Max," he responded dryly.

Elsa laughed. "Max, you really are terrible. What a thing to say!"

"Well, it's true," Max protested only half-seriously. "And you know how much I prize honesty."

"Yes, your love of honesty is evident in how much you dislike yourself," Georg retorted with wry humor.

Elsa gave a soft, tinkling laugh and he glanced at her with a smile.

"You may have your fun," Max said with an attempt at offended dignity that fell rather flat.

Georg made a sound of sardonic amusement but his humor abruptly vanished at the sound of a thin cry of pain.

He was on his feet and down the stairs in the moment it took to register what the sound was, forgetting entirely about Max and Elsa in his concern.

Marta was sitting on the ground, rubbing her bare leg, while Fraulein Maria and Liesl knelt by her, talking soothingly to her.

"What happened?" he asked.

Fraulein Maria looked up quickly. "Oh, Captain, Kurt accidentally moved too fast and the skipping rope hit Marta."

He inwardly winced, in spite of her somewhat gentle telling of what had happened. He could only imagine that the skipping rope had felt almost like a whip, although, thankfully, not wielded with nearly as much force as a whip would be.

Liesl stood up, stepping aside, as he knelt by Marta's side, taking her hand in his and resting his other hand on her hair in a light caress. "Does it hurt very much, Marta?" he asked quietly.

Fraulein Maria shifted beside him and then sat down on the ground beside Marta as Marta automatically turned to her governess, slipping her arm around Fraulein Maria.

There wasn't a mark of any sort on Marta's leg, Georg noticed with some relief. He had seen what the lash of a whip could look like and the bare thought of seeing such a mark on any of his children made his heart stop.

Marta sniffed a few times as she leaned against Fraulein Maria. "It doesn't hurt so much anymore, Father," she answered bravely.

His heart melted, filled, as he looked at his daughter. "That's good," he murmured, patting her knee as he straightened up, keeping his gaze on his daughter—and his daughter's governess.

Fraulein Maria looked up, giving him a small, reassuring sort of smile. "I'm sure Marta will be fine." She glanced down at Marta. "She's a very brave girl," she said with a smile at his daughter before she looked back up at him.

It should have been the most undignified of positions, a grown woman seated on the ground, just as if she were a child, but he could only think of the affection in the gesture, in Fraulein Maria's utter indifference to the fact that her skirt might be dirtied in the face of Marta's pain. He could not think of another woman who would do such a thing, certainly not for a child who was not their own, and yet, in Fraulein Maria, it didn't surprise him in the least, he realized.

She was one of the most naturally affectionate and loving people he had ever met, he thought. It was… humbling. To think of the years he had wasted, the years he had been so cold and restrained with his children, and then Fraulein Maria, who had showed his children more warmth and affection in the space of a single day and night than he had shown his children in years.

Fraulein Maria tightened her arms around Marta and that one small gesture made his heart suddenly clench with longing. She was so loving… And he wanted that, wanted her, he thought. He wanted the love she expressed so easily, wanted the warmth of it, wanted the devotion of it…

It was, he thought, exactly what he wanted for his children—and for himself…

He was distracted from his thoughts—his dangerous thoughts—as Kurt stepped closer, looking down at Marta with a sober expression.

"I'm sorry, Marta," he said before he looked up to meet Georg's eyes. "I didn't mean to hurt her." He suddenly looked very young in his remorse and Georg felt a fresh wave of love for the boy.

His expression softened as he stepped over to Kurt, putting an arm around his son's shoulders. "Of course you didn't, Kurt. No one is blaming you," he said reassuringly.

Kurt's expression brightened a little and Georg smiled, ruffling the boy's hair.

He glanced up to see Frau Schmidt on the terrace and turned back to his children. "It looks like it's time for dinner. Go inside and wash up."

"Yes, Father," his children murmured, with the exception of Marta, and filed into the house with quite amazing obedience.

Fraulein Maria stood up, helping Marta up as she did so.

On a sudden impulse, Georg bent and scooped Marta up into his arms. "There we are, darling. Are you hungry?"

Marta looped her arm around his neck, smiling now. "Yes, Father."

He returned her smile. "Good. So am I."

He glanced at Fraulein Maria, meeting her eyes. "Fraulein?"

She gave him a quick, approving smile that somehow warmed him to his toes. "Yes, Captain," she murmured demurely enough as she fell into step beside him.

He looked up to realize suddenly, with a flare of guilt, that he had entirely forgotten about Elsa, who had stood up and was waiting for him with an odd expression he couldn't read on her face that was quickly replaced with a slight smile.

"I'm afraid I can't offer you my arm to walk in, Elsa," he said with an attempt at lightness, even as he felt a pang of shame. He really needed to be more careful about his treatment of Elsa; she deserved better than such cavalier treatment of her.

She gave him a smile. "I am not so helpless that I cannot walk into dinner on my own, Georg," she responded.

He gave her a quick smile, feeling a sudden surge of affection and admiration for her, ever-gracious even when he was neglecting her so shamefully.

He would, he thought, have to make an effort to be a more attentive host. For Elsa's sake.

_~To be continued…~_


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

Author's Note: Apologies for the hiatus between posts but finals have started for me so it hasn't left me any time to either write or post. But rest assured I haven't forgotten about this story and have no intention of abandoning it. Thank you, everyone, who's read and reviewed; I appreciate it! Enjoy!

**Something Good**

_Chapter 7_

Georg put down his pen after signing his name, with a half sigh, before leaning back in his chair, his unfocused gaze staring blindly out the window.

He'd been dealing with his correspondence and some business matters for more than an hour now, partly because he had been neglecting them but also because he'd felt the odd, unaccountable wish to retreat from Elsa's company and even his children's presence, for a while.

He had received another jolting reminder of his need to settle his business affairs in the newspaper that morning and so he had excused himself with something like relief. He thought he might be nearly finished. He had begun slowly, unobtrusively, transferring as much of his assets as he could out of Austria and into his account in Switzerland. It was a gradual process, as he didn't dare make any moves that might be noticed and commented upon, but slowly, he had begun to move his assets over. He would not put it past the Third Reich to begin demanding tithes or tributes of a sort from all Austrian citizens, perhaps using it as another means of identifying and punishing their opponents, and he did not care for the idea of sending any money flowing into Herr Hitler's pockets.

He knew it was necessary, the sensible course of action. And yet… He couldn't quite rid himself of an odd feeling of disloyalty to his country while doing so. Had he simply given up hope in Austria and in Austrians to feel so sure that the Anschluss would happen?

And yet… he did have to act to protect his children, if nothing else. He could hope his precautions would be unnecessary but he must protect his family.

He sighed briefly, getting up from his chair and walking over to look out the window onto the lawn where his children were.

He stopped and watched them as they played, letting the sheer exuberance of their innocent fun calm him, comfort him.

It looked as if they were playing some form of blind man's bluff as Kurt was currently stumbling around, blindfolded, while his other children—and Fraulein Maria—were scattered around him, clearly eluding his hampered attempts to find them.

Marta danced forward until she was tantalizingly close, within arms reach of Kurt, and he whirled, reaching out and missing her by inches as she scooted back again, just out of his reach, and he could almost hear her merry laugh in his mind.

He felt himself smiling and then he was walking out of his study. He had done enough work and it would be a pity to spend any more of this beautiful afternoon indoors after all.

He strode out onto the terrace, hearing the laughs and gleeful teasing of his children, and paused at the railing to watch them.

Whether by luck or some measure of skill, Kurt finally managed to grasp Louisa's arm and he let out a cry of triumph. "Ha! I've got you!"

There was a general laugh as he tore off the blindfold and thrust it at Louisa, who accepted it with exaggerated reluctance and tied it around her face.

Kurt skipped backwards from Louisa with a laugh. "Come and get us!"

Louisa's first steps were tentative, halting, as she clearly tried to get her bearings and he noticed his children watching her carefully, trying to anticipate her direction.

Fraulein Maria exchanged a smiling glance with Liesl and half-absently caressed Gretl's hair before she retreated away from the happy group—walking backwards for a while so she could still keep watching them, he noted with some surprise and a touch of amusement.

It wasn't until she was nearly to the edge of the grass that she turned and then walked up the steps, her eyes finally falling on him.

"Oh, good afternoon, Captain," she greeted him.

"Good afternoon, Fraulein." He paused and then asked lightly, "Have my children tired you out yet?"

She laughed a little as she poured herself a glass of water from the pitcher on the table. "Not at all. I'm only taking a brief break."

She moved to stand beside him at the railing, joining him in watching his children.

Gretl stumbled a little, falling to her knees, and he stiffened, tensing to run to her and somehow sensed Fraulein Maria do the same-- but then Liesl was beside Gretl, lifting her up and steadying her. Liesl bent her head and, even though he could neither hear her nor see Liesl's face, he knew she was asking Gretl if she was okay. Gretl nodded, smiling quite happily, a smile which Liesl returned, and he relaxed again.

After all, he thought, there was not much need to worry over Gretl when Liesl was there.

"Liesl is a very affectionate girl," Fraulein Maria observed beside him. "She is a very caring older sister."

"Yes," he agreed, a little absently, his gaze on his eldest daughter. "She reminds me of her mother," he heard himself admit before he stopped, shocked at himself.

He hadn't meant to say the words, had only thought them. He _never_ spoke of Agathe. Not to anyone, including the children. And yet—here he found himself mentioning her with Fraulein Maria. After all, he thought, perhaps something about her openness and honesty was contagious, her candor inspiring candor in return. Whatever it was, he found himself saying aloud what he had only meant to think.

"Does she?" Fraulein Maria murmured softly and then added, "Liesl would be glad to know that."

He tried to smile. "I will volunteer to tell her myself before you can scold me into doing so."

He glanced at her to meet her eyes. She smiled slightly at his attempt at a joke, even as a light flush colored her cheeks. "I didn't _scold_ you," she said sounding a little embarrassed. "Did I?"

He smiled outright, amused at the stark contrast with her outspoken words that afternoon and her sudden, rather belated confusion over it now. "What would you call it when you gave me such a thorough lecture for not knowing my own children?"

The color deepened in her cheeks and he relented, taking pity on her embarrassment. "Please, Fraulein, I hope you are not regretting it. I have already thanked you for your words that day. I appreciated your directness."

She brightened a little, giving him a glance tinged with some humor. "You didn't seem to appreciate my outspoken words that afternoon."

"Yes, well, I thought we were agreed I behaved badly."

She laughed suddenly, her smile illuminating her face and making him feel almost bathed in its light, before she returned her gaze to the children, still playing.

He turned away from her as well, reflecting on how surprisingly easy it was to speak with her—and how comfortable it was to be in silence with her too.

Louisa, still blind-folded, stepped forward a little hesitantly, moving quite close to where Kurt was but Kurt hastily scooted backwards, out of reach.

Louisa reached out, her hand finding and gripping a tree branch, and Georg heard Marta's shriek of laughter, a laugh that even Louisa echoed.

He smiled, unable to help it, at the sight of his children enjoying themselves, and found himself suddenly thinking, with a slight pang, of Agathe. Had she ever seen all their children having such fun together? He doubted it; Marta and Gretl had been much too young at the time to join in with the activities of their older siblings. _Ah, Agathe, can you see our children now, hear them laughing as they play? _

He had—not forgotten, no, he could never forget—about Fraulein Maria's presence but he was distracted enough that he almost started when she spoke again, softly, "I am very sorry for your loss."

The words were so almost exactly appropriate to his thoughts at that moment that, for one single moment, he felt no surprise—and then he realized how she had, seemingly, been able to read his thoughts so aptly and turned to stare at her.

She met his eyes only briefly, looking a little self-conscious. "I was thinking of your mention of the children's mother," she said with that surprising diffidence she displayed sometimes. "I should have mentioned it sooner perhaps but I am sorry for your loss."

_I am sorry for your loss. _Such common words—the traditional words everyone said—and yet, it felt so different hearing them from her…

He stilled, the words startling him. They were so unexpected, so surprising, not only because it had been long enough now, that no one mentioned Agathe anymore, as if they expected her loss to have ceased to matter—but also because something about the clear sincerity in her tone and in her eyes made the almost trite words suddenly seem new, as if she were the first person to have said them to him.

Part of him wanted to act as if she hadn't said it, shied away from speaking of Agathe, but the greater part of him could not do so. It would be beyond rude to ignore the words, as kindly meant as they were. And some fraction of him felt that he wanted to speak of Agathe with Fraulein Maria, felt that doing so would, somehow, be a comfort.

"I-- thank you," he said, very softly. His eyes met and held hers for a long moment before he finally turned away, suddenly feeling too exposed. He felt that his emotions should be feeling rather raw, from talking and thinking about Agathe, but he found himself feeling… oddly, inexplicably comforted instead. It was as if some tiny part of him that had been hurting over Agathe's death had been healed from his speaking of her, as if the last, lingering vestiges of his sorrow had vanished on his words, leaving only a gentler, more calm, sort of melancholy behind. His grief, he realized, had healed in large part, and he was not entirely sure why it was so or when it had happened—surely not just at that moment—but it had happened.

"The children have mentioned their memories of her a few times," Fraulein Maria added quietly, after a moment.

Another surprise. He hadn't known his children spoke of Agathe either, because they never did with him. "Have they?"

"Yes." Fraulein Maria looked up at him for a moment before she said, softly, "You must miss her a great deal."

In anyone else, those words would have made him almost angry. Of _course_ he missed Agathe!

And yet, he found, he could not feel angry at Fraulein Maria for saying the words. Perhaps it was because of the sympathy that shone so clearly in her eyes; perhaps it was the gentle understanding and compassion in her tone. Perhaps, after all, it was just something about _her_… But whatever it was, he felt no anger, only a small pang of acknowledgement at the truth of it.

"I do," he admitted, and then paused to be surprised, again, at admitting so much aloud to another person. He never had before. "She was… truly lovely, in every way," he said, his voice lowering. It was the most he had said about Agathe in years.

"I am sure she was."

Fraulein Maria was silent for a few minutes, as if in tactful acknowledgement that he would not be comfortable with saying anything more. And then she asked, with a little more liveliness, "Does Liesl resemble her?"

"Not in appearance, no, although she does have her mother's smile. Agathe was very fair. Louisa looks the most like her mother," he answered, his gaze resting on Louisa, still stumbling around blindfolded. "Friedrich takes after her as well."

"Yes, I can see the resemblance between them," Fraulein Maria acknowledged.

Another silence fell.

He found himself suddenly wanting to tell her that she, too, reminded him of Agathe, but stopped himself. The words would serve no purpose, would likely embarrass her, and he hardly wanted to make her flee.

He glanced at her, his eyes tracing over her profile as she watched the children play, her expression soft and affectionate.

He heard a shout of laughter from someone and turned his gaze back to his children.

She didn't speak, was entirely still and silent beside him, but he was, somehow, always conscious of her presence. He felt an odd, unfamiliar feeling settle over him, suffuse his heart, and realized, belatedly, that it was peace. Peace and contentment.

And he knew that a large part of the feeling was because of her, the woman beside him, his children's governess. She made him feel peaceful, somehow. It was a little surprising to realize. He associated her with energy and laughter and songs, and yet her presence could be very calming as well. He wasn't sure what quality in her made her so calming, unless—perhaps—it was the steadfastness of her faith, not only in God but in people.

On the thought, he found himself asking her something he would never have dreamed of asking, a subject he even tried to avoid with most people. "Fraulein," he began abruptly. "May I ask what your opinion is of the Anschluss?"

She looked a little startled, understandably. The Anschluss—anything political—was hardly the usual topic of conversation between a man and his children's governess, and although she was nothing like any other governess he'd ever heard of and more and more, he was beginning to realize that he no longer thought of her only as his children's governess, that one similarity remained. Thus far, most of their conversations had revolved around the children.

He didn't know what had possessed him, exactly, to ask her about the Anschluss but somehow, in some inexplicable way, he felt as if she could… help him. Perhaps her simple faith in people could help explain to him how it was that so many people could be willing to give up their country to an invader without even a fight, how so many people could be so eager to welcome the Nazis.

It made no sense. After all, what could a postulant know of politics or of war or anything? And yet… he found himself asking anyway.

"I think," she began slowly, her gaze unfocused and thoughtful as she looked out over to the lake, "that people are afraid of war and in their fear, they are willing to believe things and do things which they would not otherwise believe or do."

He stilled, staring at her, feeling an odd constriction in his chest at her words. She had done it, he thought a little blankly. She had, somehow, managed to explain to him what had until now been inexplicable, how people were so willing to give in to the Nazis. People were afraid—and for the first time, at the thought of those people who were so quick to welcome the Nazis, he felt no anger and only a very deep, very poignant, pity. They were afraid—and while he could not quite sympathize with them, neither could he condemn them any longer.

She blinked and glanced at him, flushing a little. "Not that I know anything about politics, of course, Captain," she disclaimed quickly. "I really can hardly say for myself."

"I think you might know more than you think, Fraulein," he said quietly. "I was beginning to doubt the sanity of my country-men but now I believe I can understand it."

The ghost of an odd, somber smile passed over Fraulein Maria's face. "The Reverend Mother always says that we should try to keep faith in our doubts."

"Keep faith in our doubts," he repeated thoughtfully, mulling it over. "She sounds very wise."

"She is," Fraulein Maria said quietly enough but her affection and respect for the Reverend Mother were obvious. "Although," she added with a sudden, quick smile, "I'm afraid the Reverend Mother was usually speaking about her doubts in _me_."

It was so startling, how utterly forthright and honest she was. He found himself laughing, his mood abruptly lightening, with amusement, even though just moments ago, he wouldn't have thought it possible to be laughing so soon.

"What doubts would those be, Fraulein?" he asked lightly.

She gave him a laughing glance. "Why, doubts about what sort of nun I will make, of course," she said candidly.

He couldn't help but smile. She was, he thought suddenly, a constant delight… No matter what her mood—or his, for that matter—she was always charming, always refreshingly honest…

"Dare I ask, Fraulein, how the children are doing in practice sessions for this secret of yours or is that, too, a secret?"

She laughed softly. "The children are doing just fine; only a few more practices should be necessary. They do have lovely voices, as you know."

"Yes, but their talent was worth very little until you taught them how to use it," he responded sincerely.

She flushed lightly even as she demurred from his compliment, as he'd expected she would. He'd already noted that she was not very good at accepting praise. "They're your children, Captain," she said, echoing her words from a few weeks ago.

He smiled at the memory of the puppet show and saw the answering glimmer in her eyes. He stilled for a long endless moment, the rest of the world suddenly seeming to fade away around them, until there was only her and him, alone, as he stared at her. Her eyes were so blue… A blue so deep and clear, he could only compare it to the ocean on a clear day when it seemed as if the water was a mirror reflecting the blue skies above it… She had the loveliest eyes he had ever seen…

How long the moment lasted, he didn't know, but then she stirred, blinking as she glanced away, a flush staining her cheeks.

After a moment, she finished her water quickly and placed the glass on the table. "Excuse me, Captain," she said quietly as she walked away, returning to his children.

He watched her go, his eyes steady on her slim figure and her hair, gleaming like the most precious gold in the sunlight. Even as part of him told him he should look away, he watched her go. He had no business to be spending so much time watching his children's governess—and yet, he watched. He could not look away from her…

Gretl immediately came up and slipped her hand confidingly into Fraulein Maria's and Fraulein Maria smiled down at her before saying something that made Gretl laugh.

He smiled slightly, his heart filling with so much affection it almost hurt, and he wondered, suddenly, whatever he would do when Fraulein Maria left. He could not imagine the villa without her, could not imagine life without her…

_~To be continued…~_


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

Author's Note: Again, apologies for how long it's been between updates but finals and other RL things got in the way and then I was internet-less for a week, which didn't help. I hope this chapter is worth the wait. Enjoy!

**Something Good**

_Chapter 8_

The afternoon of the party witnessed the villa already in a state of near chaos, ordered chaos as it might be.

Frau Schmidt and Franz were constantly walking to and fro, giving orders to the maids as they prepared. The children were all restless with excitement until Fraulein Maria, with the calm sense he was beginning to expect from her somehow, insisted they all accompany her on a brisk walk outside so as not to get in anyone's way.

The Captain wished he could go with them as well but knew he could not. "Fraulein," he spoke up as she prepared to leave, following his children.

"Yes, Captain?"

"Do be sure to return in plenty of time to allow the children to get dressed."

She nodded and gave him a small smile. "Of course, Captain."

He knew she would, had known it even before he spoke. For all her sense of fun, for all her songs and her laughter and her indulgence to the children's whims, she did keep the children in order and behaving. It was one of the things he admired most about her, her ability to meld discipline with fun. He had always before associated discipline with strictness but Fraulein Maria showed him with every day that it didn't need to be so. Fraulein Maria had shown him that order and a level of discipline could still be a joyous, loving thing—as she was—and he respected that and admired her for it.

One of the maids rushed past him and he suppressed a sigh. The peace and quiet of his home was going to be quite lost for the rest of the day, he had no doubt. Was it any wonder that he had not hosted a party here for years?

He saw Elsa, pausing to speak with Frau Schmidt about some of the arrangements, noticing that even though he knew Elsa herself was quite involved in the preparations, she still managed to look as beautiful and as elegant as ever.

It was something that attracted him about her, now as much as ever, this air of cool competence which she could assume at times like this. She was always so refined, so poised, and her very dignity had appealed to him. Elsa would laugh and scold him if he ever told her, he knew, but at times like this, she reminded him of his life and his colleagues in the Navy, a comparison and contrast all the more startling because of how very lovely and obviously feminine she was.

She was charming and witty but she was also quite capable in her own way, the perfect hostess as he'd told her.

He was aware that there were elements of cynicism, of manipulation, in her but for the most part, he rather admired that too. She was clever, he knew; she knew what she wanted and she was usually successful in getting it. It was admirable in its own way.

Elsa finished speaking to Frau Schmidt and then caught sight of him, smiling as she walked swiftly towards him.

"Darling," she greeted him. "Isn't this fun?"

He glanced around at the disorder around him. "What is fun about this?"

She laughed lightly. "Of course, I forgot, Georg, that you are very unsociable."

"I am," he agreed with a smile. "But I am glad to know that you are enjoying this, my dear."

"Well, you know, Georg, I have a reputation as being the best hostess in Vienna and I am determined not to disgrace myself here."

"I don't believe you could disgrace yourself," he said honestly. "Now, I am sure you must have many things to do and I must take care of some business of my own."

"Of course, Georg. Don't worry about a thing; I have everything quite under control."

"I never doubted that," he assured her sincerely and lifted her hand to his lips before he left, retreating to his study, where he could, at least, be assured of some peace.

He found his respite but it was all too soon before he realized he really did need to get dressed and prepare himself for the arrival of the guests.

He had not worn a tuxedo while at home in years, he realized. He had worn one while in Vienna, of course, for Elsa's glittering parties, but never here in the villa, not for years.

It made him feel rather oddly out of place for a few moments, as he strode down to the front entrance, arriving in time to see the orchestra which Elsa had chosen getting their instruments set up in the ballroom.

Elsa herself was nowhere in sight, getting dressed, he assumed, and for these few minutes, at least, he seemed quite alone downstairs, with the exception of the orchestra.

But then he heard the sound of footsteps and turned to see Liesl coming downstairs. He stilled, staring at her, feeling an odd sort of twinge in his chest. She looked very pretty in her simple white dress with its yellow sash but she also looked surprisingly mature, like the young lady she would truly be all too soon.

_Ah, Agathe, _he found himself thinking with a pang, _look at how our little Liesl has grown… _

Liesl saw him and smiled, walking swiftly over to him. "Good evening, Father."

He didn't respond for a long minute, could only stare at her as she walked over to him, his daughter, his mind flooded with images and memories of her as a very young girl, the child she'd been only days ago, it seemed. And now, the child was this lovely girl before him, who was looking quite grown up.

Liesl gave him a concerned look. "Father? What is it?"

He blinked and tried to regain his composure, pushing aside the poignant thoughts, as he smiled at his daughter. "You look lovely, darling."

She smiled, brightly, at him. "Thank you, Father."

He abruptly remembered something and stepped over to the little table at the side of the room to retrieve the posy he'd prepared that afternoon, and returned to hand it to Liesl. "I thought you could use some flowers with your new dress, my dear."

Her delighted smile as she took the small bunch of edelweiss from him was ample reward and he made a mental note to thank Fraulein Maria, wondering how she'd known that such a tiny gesture that he would have—he was ashamed to admit—never thought to do could please his daughter so much.

(Fraulein Maria had paused just after her return from her walk with the children and mentioned, briefly enough, "Liesl is very much looking forward to tonight as her first real party. I think she would appreciate some little token of it from you as her father."

"A token?" he'd asked a little blankly.

"Perhaps some flowers would be appropriate, to make her feel as if she is truly a young lady attending her first ball," Fraulein Maria had suggested with the directness he had come to expect from her. In any other governess, he might have taken offense at how she not-so-subtly told him what to do but in her, he found her audacity rather charming, tempered as it usually was, with the attraction of her honest nature. He found himself thinking of that infamous argument by the lake and wondered, with some surprise, when her outspoken ways had become refreshing honesty in his mind, when he had begun to find everything about her so utterly… _likable_…)

He had prepared this small bouquet of edelweiss and clearly, Fraulein Maria had been right. Liesl could not look any more pleased if he had given her the most precious jewels in Austria and his heart warmed at the sight.

She looked back up at him from pinning the small bunch of flowers to her sash, her eyes and smile—so like Agathe's smile-- bright. He remembered promising Fraulein Maria that he would tell Liesl how she reminded him of Agathe and found himself saying, quietly, "Your mother would be very proud of you tonight."

Liesl stilled, her smile vanishing, the sparkle in her eyes abruptly dimmed by a sudden sheen of tears that she blinked rapidly back. "Do you really think so, Father?"

He nodded, reaching up to touch her cheek with his fingers. "You do remind me of your mother, you know."

She gave him a tremulous sort of smile. "Do I? But I don't look like Mother at all."

He smiled slightly, tenderly, passing a caressing hand over her glossy, brown hair. "No, you don't," he admitted, "but you have your mother's smile and I can see her in how you act with Marta and Gretl."

She smiled fully, even though her eyes still shone with some lingering tears. "Really?"

He smiled. "Really."

"Thank you, Father," she said softly and then stepped back and laughed a little shakily. "You shouldn't make me cry just before the party, Father."

He smiled but didn't respond as he heard more footsteps and saw the rest of his children coming downstairs—all of his daughters looking very pretty with Louisa and Gretl in white and Brigitta and Marta in pale gold.

Behind him, he heard the orchestra tune their instruments and winced slightly at the discordant sound but it was only momentary before they were finished and launched smoothly into playing a waltz.

His children were smiling, Marta's and Gretl's eyes, especially, looking bright with excitement, while Brigitta looked almost dreamy. As was Liesl, he noticed, who was listening to the music, a small, absent smile on her lips as she swayed very slightly.

He remembered how she had asked him if she could dance and, on a sudden impulse and thinking, fleetingly, of Fraulein Maria and how she tried to treat Liesl as an adult, he stepped forward towards Liesl.

He gave her a slight, but very correct, bow before offering his hand to her, quite as he would to any young lady he was asking to dance—as he remembered doing to Agathe, so many years ago.

She simply stared at him, her eyes wide with surprise.

"Will you grant your father just one dance, Liesl?" he asked with a slight smile.

He saw the delight in her eyes as she dipped into a proper curtsy before she looked back up at him and gave him a brilliant smile.

He sensed rather than saw the surprise on his children's faces as he took Liesl's hand and smoothly stepped into a waltz.

She stumbled almost imperceptibly at first and moved a little awkwardly but soon enough she was following his lead and dancing quite gracefully.

She was growing up so quickly, he thought. It would not be long before she was finished with school and would be dancing at parties with young men her own age… It would not be long before she would not even have any dances left for her own father.

The waltz was ending and he deliberately spun her out away from him and then back again, making her laugh delightedly and his other children clap their hands, as the waltz ended.

She was flushed, her eyes sparkling with enjoyment. "Oh, Father, that was such fun."

He smiled, something inside him relaxing at how very young she suddenly looked as she smiled up at him. She was only a girl yet; he would not lose her too soon. "I'm glad."

He turned, giving his attention to the rest of his children. "You all look beautiful," he told his daughters with perfect sincerity, passing a caressing hand over Gretl's hair.

He looked up at Kurt and Friedrich and said, with mock gravity, "You look very lovely too."

"Father!" Kurt protested as Friedrich laughed and his daughters giggled.

"What is the joke?" he heard Fraulein Maria's merry voice asking a moment before she joined them in the ballroom.

He looked up at the sound of her voice—and then stopped, the breath suddenly leaving his body. And for a fleeting moment, he forgot about the presence of his children, forgot where he was, forgot what he'd been about to say, forgot everything as he could only stare at her…

She had changed her dress, as well, to one he hadn't seen before, one with a pale blue bodice and the sleeves and the skirt of the same white material with a pattern of leaves and small flowers over it. It was very simple but utterly charming and she looked… beautiful… But then he was beginning to realize that she always looked beautiful to him. Somehow, in his mind, she had gone from being only attractive to being quite pretty to being absolutely beautiful… A beauty that stemmed not only from her physical attractiveness, but also from her youthful vibrancy and her lovely voice and the transparent charm of her spirit…

He belatedly realized that he was staring at his children's governess and blinked, sternly getting a hold of himself. And then he had to fight to remember what she had just said, what they had been laughing over. "Don't you agree that Kurt and Friedrich look lovely tonight, Fraulein?" he hastily asked, trying to use humor to cover up his reaction to her.

My God. He had completely lost his train of thought when he'd looked at her. He couldn't remember the last time that had happened to him, would have thought he was too sophisticated for such a reaction, accustomed as he was to Elsa's beauty, but apparently not.

Fraulein Maria laughed as she studied his sons, reaching up to straighten Kurt's collar and then passing her hand lightly over his hair, although she was careful not to ruffle it. "You boys look very handsome tonight."

Georg noted how Friedrich straightened up proudly, his smile bright and warm as he beamed at his governess. It was such a boyish reaction to the praise of a pretty woman that he couldn't help but smile.

Fraulein Maria's gaze moved on to each of his daughters in turn, her eyes pausing briefly on the small bunch of flowers on Liesl's sash before she flashed a quick smile of silent approval and thanks at him, a smile that made his heart warm in his chest, made him suddenly feel as if he had done something wonderful, and he wondered at how her approval somehow meant more to him in that moment than even Liesl's pleasure had.

He saw her gaze flit over Gretl and he caught her quick wink at Brigitta and saw the sudden spark of mischief in her eyes before she made a show of looking around. "But where is Gretl?"

Gretl moved from her spot beside him to tug on Fraulein Maria's hand. "I'm right here, Fraulein Maria."

She looked down with exaggerated astonishment. "Are you really my little Gretl? No, you can't be; you look much too grown-up to be little Gretl."

Georg smiled and saw the way Liesl's expression softened as they rested on Gretl's beaming face.

His gaze moved from his youngest daughter's bright smile to Fraulein Maria, as she smiled down at Gretl, her smile so affectionate and so honest, and he stilled, caught and held, for a long, endless moment. An emotion he couldn't identify—didn't dare identify—surged through him, filling his chest, with an almost painful rush of feeling. And he could swear his heart almost stuttered and that was the moment when he realized, to the full, just how dangerous this situation was.

It wasn't simply a matter of liking Fraulein Maria or finding her charming. No, it was more than that.

_He could love her_, he suddenly thought. _He could love her. _

The realization was shocking, the mere possibility of it shaking him to his very soul. Love—when he had thought he had buried his heart with Agathe… Love—when he had always known that he would never feel that way about Elsa, fond of her as he was… Love— when he'd felt so sure he could never feel that sort of all-consuming emotion for anyone else…

He fought to push the thought away; he _could_ not think of it now. The party was due to begin soon and he could not think of this now, _would_ not think of it anymore.

Gretl giggled delightedly as Fraulein Maria knelt in front of her, taking both Gretl's hands in hers. "Let me look at you, dear, in your pretty dress."

Gretl spun around once and then dipped into a small curtsy and Fraulein Maria straightened up, smiling, as she put her arm around Gretl's shoulders. "You are a very pretty young lady, Gretl." Fraulein Maria glanced at him as she added, "Don't you think so, Captain?"

Her eyes shone at him, including him in her little moment with Gretl, and it took all the self-discipline at his command to respond normally.

"I think," he said with a smile at all his daughters, "that all my daughters are lovely young ladies."

Marta beamed at him and then slipped her hand into his as she looked up at him. "Can you teach me how to dance, Father?"

He looked down at her, looking as pretty as he'd ever seen her in her pale gold dress, and even though she was much too young to be learning to dance, at that moment, he couldn't resist the appeal in her eyes and expression. After all, it was a special night.

"Of course, darling," he said and stepped back, turning her to face him and putting his other hand on her shoulder. "Step out with your right foot first," he began, counting slowly, "One, two three. One, two, three…"

She stumbled, of course, and lost her footing, stepping on his toes several times but her face was bright and he couldn't help but smile, reflecting that aside from his little dance with Liesl, this moment might end up being the highlight of his evening.

She stumbled into him once more and burst out laughing. "Oh, Father, I can't keep up."

"Nonsense," he smiled at her. "You are doing very well, dear." He let his steps slow and pretended to think. "But how about we try this…"

He bent and lifted her up into his arms, resting her against his hip.

She slipped her arm around his neck, her face delighted. "Oh, Father, can we really dance like this?"

"Certainly." He suited the action to the words and began moving in the steps of the waltz, slowly at first, and then allowing his steps to become larger, more sweeping, as she laughed, her arm tightening around his neck.

He slowed to a stop after a few minutes, lowering her to the ground. "You see, Marta, you can dance perfectly well."

Gretl tugged on his sleeve. "I want to dance too, Father!"

"Of course." He gave his youngest daughter a smile and then, on an impulse, remembering how she'd been so delighted at Fraulein Maria saying she looked grown-up, he bowed very slightly as well, before holding out his hand. She put her small hand into his, beaming up at him, with such perfect trust, he could swear his heart stilled for a moment, before he bent and lifted her up into his arms as well.

She put her arms around his neck as he stepped into a waltz, keeping count softly. "One, two, three. One, two, three…"

The waltz the orchestra had been playing came to an end and he let his steps slow and then stop, putting Gretl down.

"Thank you for the dance, Gretl," he said in a deliberately courtly manner.

She giggled and beamed up at him before she dipped into a curtsy.

He smiled, resting his hand on her head, for a moment, and then he looked up with a little start at the sound of Elsa's voice from the stairs.

"Wonderful. It looks like everyone is ready."

He was surprised to feel a flare of regret that, with Elsa ready and the time when the guests would be expected to arrive near, this little interlude with his children was over. He could not expect to spend any more time with them this evening, would, no doubt, be kept occupied with his duties as a host. And he couldn't help the thought that he would much rather spend the evening with his children, although he hastily pushed it aside, tried to forget it.

Elsa was, of course, absolutely stunning in one of her evening gowns, all in a shimmering white material made to outline her figure beautifully, with diamonds sparkling in her hair and from her ears.

She was beautiful, he thought, and yet… his gaze wandered, inexorably, back to Fraulein Maria. And yet, somehow, at that moment, she looked over-dressed, even a little ostentatious, in his eyes, compared to the simplicity of Fraulein Maria's dress.

It was ridiculous, of course. Elsa was dressed perfectly appropriately for a party while Fraulein Maria's dress was much too simple for such an event—and yet, at that moment, he found he much preferred the simplicity of Fraulein Maria's gown to the extravagant elegance of Elsa's.

Elsa came to stand beside him and he automatically reached for her hand, raising it to his lips. "You look lovely, Elsa."

She gave him a swift smile. "Thank you, Georg." She looked around at the children. "You all look charming and very proper," she said with a smile and a voice that strove to sound warm and affectionate.

"Thank you, Baroness," his children murmured politely but Georg couldn't help but notice the contrast in their polite responses to how they had responded to Fraulein Maria's compliment.

Franz came up. "Excuse me, sir, but the first of the guests are arriving."

He nodded. "Thank you, Franz."

He turned to the children but before he could speak, Fraulein Maria spoke up, "Come along, children, we should leave your father to greet the guests."

"I will see you all later," he said to his children and they smiled at him before they followed Fraulein Maria.

He offered his arm to Elsa. "Shall we, my dear?"

"Certainly."

They moved to stand at the foot of the stairs and he looked up to where Franz was waiting at the front entrance.

He suppressed a half-sigh. The party had truly begun now and he could only hope the evening would not be too tedious—and then he chided himself for the ungracious and inhospitable thought.

_~To be continued…~_


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

Author's Note: Apologies for the very long wait but to partially make up for it, this is an extra long chapter, because I wanted to fit the entire party into one chapter. This chapter, more than any other, is dedicated to Christopher Plummer and the incomparable Julie Andrews, for their beautiful acting throughout the party sequence and especially during the Laendler. I only hope I did them some measure of justice.

Sadly, I have no idea when the next chapter will be ready as it seems Maria is the Captain's muse so her leaving has made this fic incredibly difficult to write somehow. However, rest assured I don't plan to abandon it.

**Something Good**

_Chapter 9_

It had been too many years since he had attended a party in Salzburg, let alone hosted one.

There were some people he had not seen since the last time he and Agathe had hosted a party here, when Liesl had been barely older than Marta was now. My God, he realized with a sudden flare of shock, the last time he and Agathe had hosted a ball, Marta and Gretl had not even been born yet…

Georg straightened from bowing slightly over the hand of Baroness Von Sant and saw a very familiar face smiling at him.

"Karl!" he exclaimed, reaching to take his old friend's hand but Karl paused, clicking his heels and saluting in a very formal manner and Georg smiled broadly, returning the salute, before he grasped Karl's hand.

"Georg, how are you? I could not believe my eyes when I saw the invitation for a party at your house. I told Elisabeth that something drastic must have happened to make you host another party."

Georg laughed and clapped a hand on Karl's arm. "It has certainly been too long. I heard you had another son since I saw you last?" (It was why he had not seen Karl since before Agathe's death when he'd been in Salzburg on some business; some time afterwards, he remembered hearing that Karl was in the country, visiting with his wife's family as they awaited the birth of their third child.)

"Yes, my little Johannes."

"And your other children are doing well?" Georg asked.

"Getting taller every day, I think," Karl smiled proudly and then drew the woman beside him forward. "Georg, you remember Elisabeth, do you not?"

Georg took the hand of the pretty brown-haired woman, bringing it to his lips in a courtly gesture. "Of course. Frau Reimers, how good to see you again."

His friend's wife, whom he had met for the first time at her wedding a decade ago, smiled up at him and dipped into a small curtsy. "Captain, please call me Elisabeth. It's a pleasure to see you again. I know Karl has been looking forward to this evening."

Georg smiled and met Karl's eyes. "We will have to talk later."

"I am counting on it," Karl replied and then turned to Elsa.

Georg turned to Elsa. "Karl, Baroness Schraeder. Elsa, this is Lieut—excuse me, _Captain_ Reimers. We served together years ago." He deliberately corrected himself with a quick grin at Karl, who had been promoted in the years since he himself had retired.

Karl took Elsa's hand, bringing it to his lips. "Baroness, it's always an honor to meet any friend of Georg's."

Elsa smiled. "The honor is all mine, Captain."

She shook Elisabeth's hand with another smile. "Good evening, Frau Reimers, a pleasure."

Georg watched Karl and Elisabeth leave out of the corner of his eye before he turned to greet Herr Schwartz and his wife.

He was kept busy greeting people for at least another hour and was beginning to be amazed at just how many people he knew and, moreover, how many people had come, given the relatively short notice of the three weeks since the invitations had been sent out.

Herr Zeller was among the last to arrive and he stiffened, shaking the man's hand with as much courtesy as he could muster, and keeping a wary eye on the man before he turned to greet another friend, Rudolf Weissman.

But finally, he looked up to see Franz closing the front entrance.

He turned to Elsa with a slight smile. "It seems like nearly everyone accepted the invitation. Have you managed to remember all the new people you've met tonight?"

She laughed lightly. "Perhaps not all of them but most of them, yes, I think I have. Your friends seem like charming people."

"I am glad you think so. Will you excuse me for a moment, Elsa? There are some people I wanted to speak to."

"Of course, darling. You needn't worry about me. This is not my first party, you know," she laughed lightly.

He returned her smile, bringing her hand to his lips quickly, before he left.

He found Karl in the drawing room and then frowned slightly. Karl was standing in a group of men that included Herr Zeller and some other men who were known supporters of the Anschluss and sympathizers with the Nazi cause. What was Karl doing speaking with them? Although, Georg supposed, checking himself, it was a party and courtesy would call for a polite response if Karl was addressed directly.

He kept his expression pleasant as he met Karl's eyes and saw Karl quickly excuse himself, walking over to him.

"Georg, are you finished doing your duty as a host?"

Georg smiled, relaxing slightly. This was Karl, his old friend; there could be nothing to worry about in Karl. "For the moment, yes. I am amazed at how many people are here, given the short notice."

"Ah, but Georg, you forget how long it's been since you last hosted a party. I'm sure people were curious to meet this Baroness who managed to persuade you into doing so once again."

Georg inclined his head slightly to a passing gentleman and gave Karl a rather rueful smile. "Well, Elsa does enjoy giving parties."

"I, for one, am very glad she does. It has been far too long." Karl's expression sobered as he lowered his voice. "How have you been, Georg? I was so very sorry to hear of Agathe."

Just a few days ago, Georg thought, the mention of Agathe may have made him flinch but now, he could hear her name without the surge of grief, could meet Karl's eyes frankly. "I am doing well, now." He knew that Karl would pick up on the significance of the last word and knew, too, that Karl would not pry any further, inappropriate as the topic was to the occasion and their surroundings. He was not comfortable with admitting just how devastated he had been or how he had retreated from emotions and been so severe with his children.

As Georg had expected, Karl only nodded, his eyes somber, before he added with more of his usual cheerfulness, "How are all the children? I have not even met your younger children yet and how old is Liesl now?"

His expression softened. "Liesl is sixteen."

"Is she really? Why, she was just a child when I last saw her so many years ago."

Karl nodded and smiled at a passing gentleman and Georg glanced around to see another prominent sympathizer with the German cause pass by. He turned back to Karl, a slight frown in his eyes, to see a flash of some expression Georg couldn't read cross Karl's face.

"I did not realize you were acquainted with that gentleman," he said carefully. With anyone else he might not have commented, would have been too wary to comment, but with Karl—he could not believe that Karl supported the Third Reich.

Karl looked a little uncomfortable. "We have met before at social occasions," he responded and then paused before he admitted, his voice low, "To be honest, Georg, I have been hinting that I would not be averse to a commission with them if one were offered."

Georg stiffened and stared at his old friend, shock and a sickening sense of betrayal warring with each other as the prominent emotion he felt. "You cannot be serious, Karl!" he exclaimed more unguardedly than was wise.

He sensed some surprised glances and quickly moderated his tone and his expression, gripping Karl's arm and drawing him into a corner where they would be less likely to be overheard. "Karl," he said in a harsh whisper, "you cannot tell me you actually support Herr Hitler."

Karl hesitated, glancing around, before he lowered his voice and answered quickly, "I do not support him."

"Then how can you be willing to accept a commission from the Nazis?" Georg demanded, although he kept his expression as neutral as possible for the benefit of the other guests.

For a moment, Karl almost flinched before he straightened his spine and met Georg's eyes directly. "I will do it for my family's sake," he said firmly.

Their eyes met and held for a long moment as Georg found himself remembering the years he had sailed beside Karl, the years of friendship and he knew that Karl was thinking much the same thing.

Karl finally sighed and added, his voice very low, "You, of all people, know how the Nazis treat dissenters. My children are still young; Elisabeth's family has to be considered as well. You know that my children's youth—Georg, my Annelise is only eight and she is the eldest—will not protect them from the Nazis if my true views were to become known. No, I will do what I must to keep my children safe. If that means accepting a commission in Herr Hitler's Navy, then so be it."

"Karl…" Georg sighed but could not condemn his friend, even as he almost wished he could. He wondered, suddenly, sickeningly, if he himself should do the same, pretend to cooperate with the Nazis, for his children's sake—but the very thought of it made his entire being rise up in revolt. No! Not even for his children, as much as he loved them, would he give in to the Nazis. Giving in would only be the beginning and it would not protect his children from the Nazi regime, not in the end. Friedrich and, perhaps, even Kurt, would be conscripted into their army; the Nazis were not the sort to be satisfied with one man's sacrifice. No, he would find some other way; he _must_ find another way to keep his children safe.

Karl studied Georg and then asked quietly, "Would you not do the same for your children, Georg? You cannot tell me you have not considered it, what your opinions could mean for your children's lives."

"I have considered it," he acknowledged briefly.

"And what will you do then, Georg?"

He met Karl's eyes directly. "I do not know but I know I will not join them. I _cannot_ join them."

Karl sighed, gripping Georg's arm for a moment in a gesture of solidarity. "I hope you will be careful, Georg."

Georg nodded. "I will be—and you too, Karl." He paused and then added, with a touch of grim humor, "These are hard times."

The ghost of a smile crossed Karl's face. "Yes, hard times, indeed. But we must weather this storm as we have the others, mustn't we?"

Georg smiled, the question reminding him of times past. "I seem to recall you sailing into the storms, rather than avoiding them."

Karl's slight smile was a little rueful and a little sheepish. "I was young and foolish then, clearly."

"Clearly." Georg smiled before he turned. "Now, I think I must go play host for a little while."

"Naturally," Karl agreed with a smile. "The host cannot spend the entire evening in a corner avoiding all his guests. As it is, I've promised Elisabeth a dance and should keep my promise."

"Enjoy yourself."

With a last nod and smile, Georg left, making his way through the drawing room and the sitting room, which had, it seemed, been claimed as the retreat for the gentlemen and the ladies, respectively, before moving back out to the hall.

He noted that Herr Zeller was in conversation with several other gentlemen whose thoughts towards the Nazi cause were less widely known and had to fight to keep his expression neutral and pleasant. He disliked the idea that Herr Zeller could be using this party in his home as another opportunity to discover dissenters but it was, he supposed grimly, only to be expected.

He remembered Karl saying that he would do what he must to keep his children safe and felt a pang of sadness, oddly mingled in with anger at the Nazis. For Karl to be willing to compromise his beliefs so, for his family's sake, made the reality of the growing power of the Third Reich all the more tragic; he could only wonder how many more men would stay silent out of fear and how many more would allow themselves to be persuaded out of fear.

He remembered Fraulein Maria's words of people being willing to believe and do things they would not otherwise believe or do out of fear and realized, again, just how true the words had been.

Power through fear was a terrible, tragic thing, he thought, suddenly filled with a rush of sadness—sadness for the times they were living in, sadness for the people living in fear…

And before he'd quite realized he was intending to, he turned his steps towards the courtyard adjacent to the ballroom, where he knew his children would be, with Fraulein Maria, suddenly wanting to see them, be with them. His family. He wanted to see his children's smiling faces, soak in the comfort of their innocent affection, their precious trust…

He kept his steps casual, his expression pleasant, mindful of the smiling glances of his acquaintances and friends.

The orchestra smoothly switched into playing the Laendler as the dancing couples assumed their places. He made his way carefully through the dancing couples, let the familiar strains of the music soothe him as well.

He had expected his children to be watching the dancing and was surprised to notice that he only saw Gretl's back. What was so interesting in the courtyard so as to distract them all from the ballroom?

He walked to the open door, pausing to scan the ballroom, more out of a sort of habit than any concern as, so far, the party was going as smoothly as he would expect of any party planned by Elsa, before he turned to step outside and stopped in the doorway.

Fraulein Maria was teaching Kurt the Laendler. Or trying to, that is. Fraulein Maria was stepping lightly but Kurt's movements were awkward and uncertain, at best. He suppressed a smile at Kurt's awkward struggle to turn and Fraulein Maria's instruction of "Don't fight." It was charming.

Even as he thought it, he was putting on his gloves, not even trying to resist the impulse to dance the Laendler with Fraulein Maria. He might have explained it as merely allowing his children to watch and learn, but he didn't even attempt to believe that flimsy reasoning. He was going to dance the Laendler with Fraulein Maria because he _wanted_ to. He wanted to dance with her, wanted to see her dance… Wanted it with an intensity that surprised him because he had never been particularly fond of dancing—Agathe had usually had to gently cajole him into dancing with her—but now, suddenly, he wanted to dance with Fraulein Maria.

He didn't stop to wonder why; the reasons didn't matter. All he knew, all he cared about, in that moment, was that he wanted to dance with her.

Fraulein Maria's instructions—and Kurt's struggles—continued. "Hop, step, hop, and under…" Kurt grunted with some exertion and Fraulein Maria laughed a little. "Kurt, we have to practice."

He tapped Kurt's head lightly. "Son, do allow me, will you?"

Kurt agreed readily and moved away and Georg offered his hand to Fraulein Maria, who was staring at him in some surprise.

She placed her hand in his; he could feel the warmth of her hand through his glove. It was, he was suddenly very aware, the first time they had touched—at least since that morning when he had touched her cheek with his fingers… He fought the sudden urge to grip her hand tighter, draw her closer…

But then they stepped into the dance and he forgot the unwise impulse in enjoyment.

He had never particularly liked the Laendler before, had thought it was an odd combination of grace and awkwardness—but now, suddenly, as he danced it with Fraulein Maria, he acknowledged its beauty, the timelessness of it.

Because of her. She danced it the way it was meant to be danced, with grace and elegance and spirit, her feet stepping so lightly it almost appeared at times as if she floated. She was absolutely enchanting and he couldn't help but think that the Laendler might have just become his favorite of all dances. His eyes never left her, tracing over her beautiful face, her expressive eyes, her slim, graceful figure, with sheer appreciation for her beauty. It was a joy just to look at her, to watch her…

Odd how he had never really noticed it before—how incredibly graceful she was. She danced with the ease and grace of the proverbial queen—and, he couldn't help but notice, her utterly sincere enjoyment of the music and the dance shone out of her eyes. It was infectious. It was charming; _she_ was charming. Her beautiful eyes, her smile, her entire expression, conveyed her enjoyment of the dance, her clear appreciation for the Laendler deepening his own newfound appreciation for its beauty. It was the most irresistible thing…

He had the sudden thought that he almost wished he could dance like this, with her, his hands holding hers, forever. He could watch her forever… She was youth and beauty and grace and she somehow managed to make all other women he had ever seen seem stiff and awkward, artificial in comparison.

He released her hand in the movements of the dance with something like reluctance but then watched with pleasure the spirited grace of her movements as she sashayed around him—this was the part of the dance he'd always thought made a woman look fairly ridiculous but Fraulein Maria was anything but, was still graceful, still appealing-- and then fell into step behind him.

And, for the first time since Fraulein Maria had put her hand into his, he remembered that they were not alone as his eyes fell on his children. They were staring at him and Fraulein Maria with wide eyes and something like amazement in their eyes and he couldn't help a slight smile.

But then he touched Fraulein Maria's hand again, grasping it lightly—and at the first touch, the first sight as she moved to stand in front of him and his eyes met hers, the rest of the world seemed to fade away and he returned to a magical dream-land where nothing else existed but for her and him and the sweet strains of the Laendler…

His breath almost stilled in his chest as his arm went around her waist—the Laendler was definitely his favorite dance, he thought rather vaguely…

She turned in his arms, her gaze dropping from his, and his heart leaped as he saw the blush in her cheeks—and then she returned, stepping close to him, his arm around her slender waist and his hand gripping hers above their heads as they revolved slowly…

She was so close… He could feel the warmth of her through his jacket, could swear he felt the heat of her skin through the cloth of his gloves and her dress. She was so close he could feel her breath mingling with his…

For a fleeting second, his eyes dropped down to her lips—why had he never noticed how pretty her lips were?—and then lifted, irresistibly, to her eyes—her lovely, expressive eyes…

He forgot to breathe, forgot to blink, forgot everything except the woman in his arms, gazing up at him with soft, beautiful eyes…

And he wasn't aware of when they stopped revolving, wasn't aware of how long he stood like that, his arm around her, his eyes on hers…

_He wanted her. _He was aware of his desire as an insistent, powerful thing, almost hypnotic in its effects, as he stared at her, aware with every nerve in his body of how close she was and how easy it would be to draw her yet closer…

But then before he could act on his desires, slowly, her gaze not leaving his, she retreated backwards and he was suddenly, irrationally, aware of the loss of her closeness, the distance between their bodies—and still, he stared, could not look away.

Her eyes were wide and a little uncertain as she admitted, "I don't remember any more."

At that moment, neither did he. The few, last remaining steps of the Laendler had utterly flown his mind, leaving his mind filled only with her…

He was only peripherally aware of someone—Brigitta—stepping forward. "Your face is all red."

Fraulein Maria's blush deepened as she brought her hands up to her cheeks. "Is it? I don't suppose I'm used to dancing."

It was such an ingenuous, innocent thing to say that he couldn't help a slight smile. She was so lovely in her innocence…

"That was beautifully done." He almost started at the sound of Elsa's voice, returning to a full awareness of his surroundings and of who he was and what he'd been doing—dancing with and staring at his children's governess!—turning to look at her, aware of the surge of guilt.

"What a lovely couple you'll make," she said smilingly enough.

He almost flinched. She knew. She'd seen. Of course she'd seen; Elsa wasn't blind and he had been obvious.

He looked away, down at his gloves as he pulled them off, his movements a little jerky, feeling decidedly ill-at-ease. He cast about in his mind for something to say—how could he respond? "Yes, I think it's time the children said good night," he finally said, carefully keeping his eyes away from Elsa but not quite able to keep from looking at Fraulein Maria, even knowing that Elsa was watching.

He could see her confusion, her sudden uncertainty, clouding her eyes, before she tried to push it aside and respond normally.

"Yes, we'll be in the hall in a moment," she began a little uncertainly before adding, with something of her usual spirit, as she addressed the children, "We've got something very special prepared, right?"

"Right," his children agreed. "Come on! Let's go!"

He watched his children scurry off, following Fraulein Maria, smiling slightly at the memory of the practice he had interrupted, before he turned back to Elsa with something like reluctance—and guilt that he should feel reluctant.

She took his arm as they turned to walk back into the ballroom. "All that needless worrying Georg," she said lightly. "You thought you wouldn't find a friend at the party."

Her tone was light but he couldn't help but flinch inwardly, wondering if it were only his sense of guilt sensing a reproach in her words. He stopped, glancing back at the now-empty courtyard, an image of Fraulein Maria as she danced flashing into his mind, before he resolutely pushed it away and turned back around, casting about for something to say. "Chilly out tonight, isn't it?" he asked, lamely.

"I don't know. It seems rather warm to me," Elsa answered smoothly with a smile.

He made himself return her smile, even as he felt horribly conscious of his own guilt. What was he doing? He was thinking of marrying Elsa; he _must_ conquer this attraction to Fraulein Maria—and it was only attraction, he told himself firmly. It could not be anything more than that. She was his children's governess; she was going to become a nun.

And he—he was thinking of marrying Elsa. He _should_ marry Elsa, the perfect hostess, perfect lady, as she was.

He pushed aside the memory of that moment earlier that evening and the revelation that he could love Fraulein Maria—it was impossible. It must be impossible.

Almost on the thought, he heard her voice, raised to carry over the buzz of conversation. "Ladies and gentlemen, the children of Captain Von Trapp wish to say good night to you."

He caught the curious glances and made a gesture of his ignorance before taking Elsa's arm as he hurried forward to the hallway, making his way through the assembled guests until he was in front, Elsa beside him.

Fraulein Maria was clearly giving his children a few last words and he could only imagine that she was telling them to smile and they would do wonderfully; he could see the smiles, the confidence, on his children's faces and was filled with pride.

His children assumed their places on the front stairs and began to sing, "There's a sad sort of clanging from the clock in the hall, and the bells in the steeple too…"

He glanced around to see the dawning smiles on everyone's faces and returned his gaze to his children, for a fleeting moment seeing them through the eyes of his guests, and his heart swelled with an almost painful rush of love and pride.

_My God, these were his children… His lovely daughters, his two fine sons… _

He had to smile at the "Cuckoo", glancing at Fraulein Maria, remembering that morning when he had seen her plan this performance—so that was why she had sung, "Cuckoo." She was smiling with pride and affection as she watched his children—so much pride and so much affection—she could not have looked any more proud or affectionate if she was their mother, he suddenly thought, before he pushed that dangerous thought aside, focusing once more on his children as they marched forward and around, arranging themselves into a line.

And Marta—his shy, quiet, little Marta—was the first one to step forward and sing, clearly and confidently, "I hate to go and leave this pretty sight." He watched in something like amazement. This was his shy little Marta? Singing so confidently in front of a crowd of strangers?

Marta was followed by Friedrich, looking very tall somehow. His handsome lad…

And then it was Liesl's turn as she too stepped forward confidently, coming directly to him. "I'd like to stay and taste my first champagne. Yes?"

And he was feeling proud and indulgent enough that for almost any other request, he might have relented—but not for that. "No," he returned firmly and then hid his grin behind his hand at her openly reproachful look before she left.

Kurt-- nothing shy about him, of course. If anything, he was in his element singing in front of such a large group. Georg waved his hand in a gesture for Kurt to stop showing off but couldn't help the smile on his face.

And then Brigitta, his lovely Brigitta, whose eyes met his as her serene expression brightened into a quick smile at him.

He watched in some surprise as Louisa stepped forward, fluttering around Brigitta, and wondered at what Fraulein Maria had had to do to persuade Louisa to dance in such a way in public. But then, even his tomboyish Louisa was fast becoming a young lady… For a fleeting moment, he saw Agathe as she'd been the first time he had seen her, nearly two decades ago now, saw Agathe dancing, her feet so light on the floor, he had thought she looked as if she were floating…

But then he blinked and the vision vanished and he was watching his daughters again as they twirled their way toward the stairs before leaving his little Gretl alone. His expression softened as she pushed her way up the stairs. His darling baby girl… He glanced around to see almost identical fond smiles on all the ladies around him as they watched Gretl. It was a sight to charm even the most hard-hearted of adults, he had no doubt, as he watched Liesl gently pick Gretl up and Gretl sleepily looped her arms around Liesl's neck.

"Good bye…"

And then, to his utter shock, as his children's last "good bye" faded away, all the adults around him- with the exception of himself and Elsa- spontaneously waved, joining in with a last, "Good bye…"

A beat of silence followed the last, fading echoes of the guests' voices and then conversation abruptly began again and he found himself surrounded by people, everyone smiling and seeming to want to compliment him on his children's performance.

Max came up to him. "They are extraordinary! What they would do at the festival…"

And at the moment, he was too filled with pride in his children even to mind Max's persistent mention of the festival and could only smile and shrug in amazement.

Baroness Wertheimer and Baron and Baroness Bergmann glanced over at him, clearly wanting to pay their compliments and he approached, shaking, first, Baroness Bergmann's hand and then Baroness Wertheimer's hand.

"Congratulations, Captain, on your lovely children," Baroness Bergmann said smilingly.

"Thank you, Baroness."

"Your daughters are absolutely charming," Baroness Wertheimer chimed in. "Truly lovely girls and your sons are growing to be fine young men, I can see."

"Thank you; I am glad you think so," he responded before he became aware of Max's voice.

"Georg." He turned and glanced around to see that Max had brought Fraulein Maria forward and was gripping her arm. "Georg, you're not going to let this girl get away. She has to join the party."

Fraulein Maria looked more openly distressed and uncomfortable than he had ever seen her. "No, really," she began.

"Georg," Max repeated.

"You can if you want to, Fraulein," he told her cordially, his gaze flashing up to meet Max's eyes briefly. He would not insist, as he knew Max wanted him to. He only wanted Fraulein Maria to do what she wanted, trusted in her good sense.

He turned back to Baroness Wertheimer. "I remember that your late wife was also fond of music so I suppose it is no surprise to find that your children have such beautiful voices."

He kept his smile pleasant, although the mention of Agathe was somewhat surprising. But then Baroness Wertheimer was not known for her subtlety, although she was a very kindly woman. "Thank you."

He heard Max raise his voice to hail Franz as he passed. "Franz, set another place next to mine for Fraulein Maria."

He turned back to Max's ongoing pressuring of Fraulein Maria, feeling a flicker of irritation on Fraulein Maria's behalf. Max had no business to be so insistent.

He felt Franz's nonplussed gaze and gave a quick nod, confirming Max's request. With any other governess, he would not have permitted it; it was not at all the usual thing to allow the governess to join a party but with Fraulein Maria, he had no fears of her. She was as much a lady as any woman here and he had no doubt of her ability to charm anyone she spoke to with her unaffected warmth and her openness.

"Why, whatever you say, Herr Detweiler," Franz responded.

"It appears to be all arranged, doesn't it?" Georg interjected, deliberately infusing his voice with more enthusiasm in an attempt to put Fraulein Maria at ease. He didn't like to see her looking so uncertain.

"Certainly does," Elsa agreed smilingly.

"I'm not suitably dressed," Fraulein Maria protested, her voice rather subdued.

_You look beautiful. _He bit the automatic words back and settled for saying, instead, "You can change; we'll wait for you," before he could wonder if she had anything appropriate. He had already noted that her clothing was remarkably simple—appropriate to her position and certainly she never looked anything other than lovely to him—but not exactly suited for a party. But then he had no doubt she would look beautiful, could easily outshine any other lady at the party, if she chose, even in her simple dresses…

He returned his attention to Baroness Wertheimer at the touch of her hand on his arm. "Your children do have such lovely voices."

"You are very kind to say so."

She gave him a last smile and moved away.

"Captain, you must be very proud of your youngsters," Baroness Elberfeld declared smilingly.

He smiled at the kind Baroness, whom Agathe had considered as being almost an aunt. "I am, thank you, Baroness."

"Is there a more beautiful expression of what is good in this country of ours," Baron Elberfeld chimed in, in his characteristically deliberate manner, "than the innocent voices of our children."

Georg shook his head slightly in agreement, patting the good, old gentleman's arm fondly, before he turned towards the sitting room.

He stiffened at the sound of Herr Zeller's cold voice. "Oh come now, Baron, would you have us believe that Austria alone holds the monopoly on virtue?"

Georg fought the urge to glare at Herr Zeller for this deliberately obtuse misstatement of the Baron's words, had to struggle to keep his expression and his tone pleasant. "Herr Zeller, some of us prefer Austrian voices raised in song to ugly German threats."

"The ostrich buries his head in the sand," Herr Zeller declared, still ostensibly addressing the Baron, who was regarding Herr Zeller with a very coldly dignified expression, before he turned—with deliberate provocation, Georg thought angrily—to look pointedly at the Austrian flag hanging in pride of place, before finishing, "and sometimes, in the flag."

Herr Zeller turned to face Georg. "Perhaps those who would warn you that the Anschluss is coming—and it _is_ coming, Captain—perhaps they would get further with you by setting their words to music."

Georg felt his gaze chill as he narrowed his eyes. "If the Nazis take over Austria," he responded in as cool and indifferent a voice as he could muster, "I have no doubt, Herr Zeller, that you will be the entire trumpet section."

With that, Georg turned on his heel to leave, not trusting himself to remain facing Herr Zeller any longer, only to be stopped once again at the sound of Herr Zeller's voice.

"You flatter me, Captain." The man had the effrontery to sound almost amused.

Georg turned, a cool, utterly insincere, smile curving his lips. "Oh, how clumsy of me. I meant to accuse you." He let the smile vanish, fixing his hard gaze on Herr Zeller for a fleeting moment with as much arrogant anger as he could, a look that had been used to make his subordinates in the Navy positively blanch, and had the small satisfaction of seeing the slight smirk on Herr Zeller's face vanish.

With that, he turned abruptly and stalked away from the main hall, his back stiff with anger, one fist clenched.

He was seething with fury at Herr Zeller's words but reminded himself sternly that he could not allow his anger to show. He was the host; he could hardly spend the rest of the evening glaring at everyone.

As if to confirm his thoughts, he was stopped by Frau Weisz who turned to smile at him. "Captain, my compliments on your charming children."

He managed to rearrange his stiff features into a smile as he nodded. "Thank you, Frau Weisz. You are very kind."

He moved on, mindful of the need to keep his expression pleasant, and then saw Karl and Elisabeth coming towards him.

Karl's smile broadened. "Georg, I am in awe," he pronounced as he drew near. "You did not tell me that your children sang like angels."

He had to smile at the extravagant compliment. "I'm afraid I cannot take the credit for it."

"Truly, Captain, it was one of the most delightful performances I have ever seen," Elisabeth chimed in with a smile.

He inclined his head. "Thank you. Fraulein Maria has worked wonders." And he found, somewhat to his surprise, that just saying her name calmed him somewhat. _Fraulein Maria. _For the first time, he allowed himself to deliberately call to mind the image of her, saw her smiling and laughing with the children, saw her face as she'd looked up at him during the Laendler… The hard knot of anger in his chest loosened, dissipated, to be replaced with a much softer emotion at the thought of her and, for once, he allowed himself to encourage it.

"Fraulein Maria?" Karl queried, raising his brows slightly.

"The children's governess," he clarified. "She is the one who planned that little surprise, that was quite as much of a surprise to me as it was to everyone else."

"Ah. Georg, I had no idea your children could sing so well—and how they've grown! Why, Liesl is a young lady now." Karl turned to Elisabeth, adding, "When I last saw Liesl, she was just a little girl who came up to my waist or so."

Elisabeth laughed softly. "Children do tend to grow up, Karl."

"So they do but it is still surprising how quickly they grow," Karl agreed.

"Yes, they do grow up quickly," Georg conceded with a half sigh that he quickly turned into a smile. "I am glad you enjoyed their little performance. I'm sure they will be delighted to hear it."

"Yes, give them our compliments and you must compliment their governess, Fraulein Maria, for the charming performance, as well," Elisabeth smiled.

"I will be sure to do so."

Elisabeth lifted her hand in a gesture of greeting to another lady before she turned to him with a half-apologetic smile. "If you'll excuse me, Captain, I wanted to speak with Frau Bernstein."

"Of course."

Karl gripped Georg's arm in a brief gesture as he accompanied Elisabeth and Georg continued his stroll through the sitting room, occasionally nodding in response to people's smiles.

He kept his expression pleasant but deliberately avoided making any sort of eye contact with any of the more prominent Nazi sympathizers among the guests; he did not trust himself to remain polite after Herr Zeller's provocation earlier, not when the dinner still remained to be endured.

He returned to the ballroom, falling into conversation with Rudolf Weissman and his young wife as well as another old friend, before excusing himself.

He smiled as he saw Elsa coming towards him, holding out her hand in a clear invitation, which he accepted, stepping smoothly into a waltz.

They had waltzed before at some of Elsa's soirees in Vienna; Elsa was as accomplished and elegant a dancer as she was a hostess. Waltzing with Elsa was—had always been—a singular pleasure.

But he found, to his surprise, that somehow, this waltz with Elsa left him unmoved. He could acknowledge her grace and her elegance but it was with an almost clinical detachment, an impersonal appreciation. Not like—not like the irresistible, almost dream-like enchantment of the Laendler with Fraulein Maria… The traitorous thought, the comparison, darted into his mind of its own volition.

And he felt a fresh wave of guilt as he considered Elsa, her classically beautiful features, her soft smile. Good God, how could he betray Elsa so in his thoughts? She did not deserve this sort of treatment from him, after all he owed to her…

The waltz ended with the announcement that dinner would be served and he offered Elsa his arm as they walked towards the formal dining room.

It was not until everyone had been seated that he realized that Fraulein Maria was absent, an absence made more conspicuous by the empty place next to Max.

Max frowned slightly at the empty seat and then began to raise his hand to summon Franz, no doubt to have Franz send one of the maids to Fraulein Maria's room and bring her down. Georg felt a flicker of irritation at Max's high-handed treatment of Fraulein Maria; she had a perfect right not to join them if she didn't want to and Max should not be insisting.

But before he could intercede on Fraulein Maria's behalf, Elsa smoothly spoke up. "Max, clearly Fraulein Maria prefers not to join us and you really should respect her choice." She glanced around and then raised her voice slightly, "Baroness Stockmar, do join us here; I would like to continue our conversation from earlier this evening."

Georg settled back into his chair, awash in admiration for Elsa's social adeptness and how she had cleverly solved the minor issue of the prominent empty spot by filling it with Baroness Stockmar, who was one of the few unaccompanied ladies in attendance tonight.

He caught her eye and gave her a quick, warm smile of approval and of gratitude for her gracious defense of the absent Fraulein Maria, which was kind of her, even as he felt another pang of guilt at his cavalier treatment of Elsa and paying too much attention to Fraulein Maria. He would do better in future, he resolved. He would treat Fraulein Maria with the somewhat detached courtesy due to his children's governess and give Elsa the sort of consideration and attention she deserved.

Dinner proceeded as smoothly as he would have expected from any party of Elsa's and he had begun to relax, settling into his polite inquiries into Baroness Stockmar's grandchildren, who were the pride of her life, when his attention was abruptly caught—and his peace disturbed—by Herr Von Geitner.

"Oh, come now," Herr Von Geitner declared, his gruffly unmoderated voice cutting across the other conversations, "consider what Herr Hitler has done for Germany; if he can do half as much to improve Austria's economy, I say we should welcome him with open arms."

Georg stiffened. He had never particularly liked Herr Von Geitner, considered the man to be something of a crass boor with a tendency to pontificate, but he was, unfortunately, welcomed everywhere because of his wealth, and so he had, of necessity, been invited tonight. Now, though, Georg regarded the man coldly, abruptly deciding that he didn't merely disapprove of Herr Von Geitner but actively despised him.

"Very pragmatic of you, Herr Von Geitner. It's admirable," Herr Zeller's cool voice responded into the sudden pause.

"The economy aside, we must also consider the positive influence Herr Hitler has had on German morale," Baron Schoenburg added. "Wouldn't you agree, Captain Reimers?" he asked, abruptly addressing Karl across the table.

Georg saw Karl's gaze flicker, although he didn't turn his head to glance directly at Georg, before he answered smoothly, "Indeed, Baron, you are quite correct." Karl's voice was scrupulously polite, his expression noncommittal at best, and Georg knew that only someone familiar with Karl would recognize the stiffness of Karl's features, could detect the insincerity in Karl's voice, so unlike Karl's customary good nature.

Georg was suddenly gripped with a mixture of sadness oddly mingled in with respect, realizing with stark clarity the dangerous balancing act Karl was engaging in, concealing his true opinions about the Nazis and trying to stay in their good graces, for the sake of his family. And realizing, too, just how dangerous his own situation was. His views on the Anschluss and the Nazis were no secret and while he had, thus far, been left largely unmolested, he could not help but wonder how much longer the situation would last with the growing influence of the Nazis within Austria.

"Gentlemen are always so serious in discussing politics, I declare it is quite intimidating to a woman like me who would much prefer to discuss cheerful subjects more suited to a dinner party," Elsa spoke up, her voice light, as she directed an arch smile at both Herr Von Geitner and Baron Schoenburg, with the sort of charm bordering on flirtatiousness which was one of the greatest powers of a beautiful, sophisticated woman, a power which Elsa wielded as skillfully as any woman Georg had ever known. "Tell me, Baron, have you seen the new production of _The Marriage of Figaro_ at the Opera House? I have heard it is quite the masterpiece."

"Why, yes, Baroness, I went just last week and it was certainly enjoyable," Baron Schoenburg responded, his expression softening into a smile at Elsa.

Elsa returned his smile before smoothly turning to address Frau Von Geitner, seated beside her husband. "Have you seen the performance, Frau Von Geitner, and would you agree?"

Frau Von Geitner leaned forward, her face brightening, "Oh, yes, indeed, Baroness. I thought the costumes were particularly fine," she said. "What did you think, Frau Reimers?" she addressed Elisabeth, her voice a little softer.

It was, Georg thought, possibly the most he had heard Frau Von Geitner say at one time; she was a rather quiet woman, not un-handsome but certainly not a beauty, who seemed entirely under the thumb of her much more forceful husband. It spoke volumes of Elsa's skill as a hostess that she had drawn out Frau Von Geitner so and with Elisabeth's smooth response, the normal hum of social conversation resumed, as everyone tacitly agreed that the subject of politics would be set aside for the rest of the evening.

Georg returned his attention to Baroness Stockmar but not until after he had caught Elsa's eye to give her a warm smile, filled with gratitude and admiration for her.

She was, as he'd already known, the consummate hostess; he could not name more than a few other women who could have defused the tension in the room as smoothly as Elsa just had. She was easily one of the most beautiful women in the room, to say nothing of being sophisticated and elegant and charming, the perfect lady.

_He should marry her, _he thought, not for the first time. Could he expect any more from a wife?

_~To be continued…~_

A/N 2: All the new names mentioned in this chapter are my own invention, with the exception of the Baron and Baroness Elberfeld, whose names I took from the SoM soundtrack.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

Author's Note: Thank you, everyone, who's read and reviewed this story!

**Something Good**

_Chapter 10_

There was something very lonely about a house that had been filled with people and music and the hum of conversation only the night before, even for him, who so valued the peace of his home.

Frau Schmidt and the maids would have a busy day of cleaning and restoring the house to its usual state.

Georg retreated to his study with a very masculine sense of relief at not having to deal with such inconveniences.

"Excuse me, sir."

Georg looked up as Franz entered his study after a quick knock. "Yes, Franz?"

Franz's voice and expression were as inscrutable as always. "This was left on the side table by the stairs, sir."

Georg frowned slightly at the envelope as he accepted it. "Thank you, Franz."

Franz inclined his head and left, closing the door behind him.

Georg opened the envelope with some curiosity, pulling out the single sheet of paper, noting that the note itself was very brief.

His eyes fell automatically to the signature and he straightened. _Fraulein Maria_. Her handwriting was as devoid of elegant affectations as she herself was, he noted peripherally, even as he wondered what she felt the need to write rather than say.

He read the very brief note swiftly, shock seeping into his chest, stopping his breath as the note fell from his suddenly nerveless fingers to his desk. He could not believe it. She would not leave in such a way. She could not leave so…

Suddenly feeling an irrational need to assure himself that he hadn't somehow (impossibly) misunderstood her brief note, he caught up the paper and read it again, more slowly, with a care he hadn't given it the first time. Reread the impossible words and realized that the impossible had really happened.

_Dear Captain and Children, _

_I am very sorry to leave like this, with no notice, but I feel that I must. The Abbey is my home, my life, and I miss it too much to remain here. _

_I will always remember my time here with gratitude and affection. I will miss you, children. _

_God bless you all. _

_Fraulein Maria_

The note was like her, he thought, honest and affectionate and yet it sounded oddly rushed and truncated as if she'd been feeling a great deal which she could not put into words. And he wondered—what other emotions had there been behind this oh-so-short little note of farewell?—what had she not said?

He wasn't sure where exactly this certainty came from—how could he be so sure he knew her well enough to guess her thoughts from such a brief note?—and yet, he was certain. There was some other reason which she was not telling. He did not doubt that she missed the Abbey; she was too affectionate a person not to miss a place that had been her home for years and the people she knew there. But that could not be all. Because he knew, too, that she would find the good in everything and whole-heartedly give of herself in following God's will, not shirking any of her responsibilities or duties. And she would not leave like this, so suddenly, over homesickness. He was—irrationally—very sure of that. She would not leave…

The thought trailed off as the true significance of the note him forcefully. She had _left. Fraulein Maria was gone._

Dear God, the children! What would the children do? How would they react to this sudden loss of the governess they had all become so fond of? This second great loss of their young lives, he thought with a pang. Gretl and Marta—how would they react to this?

He straightened, hearing the sound of footsteps and muffled voices that told him his children were awake.

God, how would he tell them? How could he tell them?

He stood up, feeling rather as he used to when he had been summoned to talk to an admiral, and had to steel himself as he left his study.

Kurt was the first one to come down, greeting him with a sunny smile. "Good morning, Father! Did the party go well?"

"Yes, it did. Everyone was very impressed with your singing."

Kurt grinned. "Oh, were they? It was all Fraulein Maria's idea. I don't know how she thought of it." Georg inwardly winced as Kurt looked around. "Where is Fraulein Maria? She usually comes up to help Gretl braid her hair."

"Kurt," he began and then inwardly winced again at the blithely curious look on Kurt's face. "I'm afraid Fraulein Maria isn't here. She left, to return to the Abbey," Georg clarified, breaking the news bluntly.

It was almost shocking to see the smile, the happiness, vanish so quickly from Kurt's face, to be replaced with confusion and dismay. "She left? When?"

"Yesterday evening, sometime during the party. She left a note saying she missed the Abbey too much and had to leave us."

Kurt straightened up, an expression Georg couldn't quite decipher crossing his face. "She wouldn't do that!" he burst out, before he turned and ran up the stairs, heading, Georg knew, for Fraulein Maria's room.

Georg winced again and sighed, hearing the muffled sound of Kurt's voice, "Fraulein Maria! Fraulein Maria?" before Kurt reappeared, running still, down the hallway.

"Friedrich! Liesl! Louisa!"

The door to the children's room opened and Friedrich and Louisa appeared. "What is it, Kurt? Why are you shouting?"

And Georg could only watch, looking up at his children from where he stood, wishing, irrationally, that he could protect them from the grief he knew they would feel.

"It's Fraulein Maria," Kurt panted breathlessly. "She's gone."

"Gone!" Friedrich echoed.

"Don't be silly," Louisa chided sharply. "She wouldn't leave without saying goodbye!"

"She did! It's true!" Kurt protested. "I checked her room and all her things are gone."

Georg heard Liesl's voice from inside, although he couldn't see her. "What is all this? What are you talking about, Kurt?"

"Fraulein Maria's left, to go back to the Abbey."

Georg flinched at the jumble of voices that arose at Kurt's announcement, hearing Liesl's exclamation of dismay followed by the more plaintive voices of Gretl and Marta, as he hurried up the stairs.

Louisa greeted him with something like desperation in her face and voice. "Oh, Father, it isn't true, is it? Fraulein Maria didn't really leave, did she?"

"It is true, Louisa," he said gently. "Fraulein Maria is gone. She left a note saying goodbye to all of us."

"Fraulein Maria's gone?"

He flinched as he looked down at Marta's woebegone face, crouching down so he could face her. "Yes, Marta, she's gone. She said she missed the Abbey too much and so she had to leave us. She said she would miss you all, though."

He straightened up, resting a caressing hand on Gretl's hair, deliberately infusing as much cheer into his voice as he could. "Now, why don't you all finish getting ready and then come down for breakfast, hmm? And how would you like to have a holiday today? You can take a break from your studies."

"Yes, Father."

He suppressed a frown at how subdued their response was, but refrained from comment. It was the surprise, he told himself. They would be fine once they'd had more time to think and become accustomed to the idea of not having Fraulein Maria. (He sternly suppressed the thought that he couldn't believe that his children would forget Fraulein Maria quite so quickly.)

He sighed a little as he walked downstairs to meet Max's questioning look.

"Did I hear that correctly, Georg, that Fraulein Maria has left?"

"Yes, Max, she left last night," he answered briefly.

She had gone, left like a thief in the night while they were all distracted by the party—and then he chided himself for the harsh simile. Fraulein Maria had every right to leave if she wanted to; she was not a prisoner in the villa, even if there was still more than a month left before the end of the summer when she was originally supposed to have left.

"Hmm, that seems rather sudden," Max commented. "I thought she was content here."

He felt a flash of irritation at Max, unjustified as even he had to admit it was. "Clearly, you were mistaken," he clipped out, his tone all the more harsh because he had thought so too. He had thought she was happy here, as happy as he had been… Had the brightness of her smiles, the cheer of her laughter, all been masking the heartache of missing the Abbey and the life she'd known before? But no. He could not believe that. She was the most ingenuous, honest person he had ever met; her smiles and her laughter could not have been insincere. No, she _had_ been content here. Whatever her reasons for leaving, it could not be that she had been unhappy or discontent here. She had been content—just not content enough, he thought, with a sudden pang.

Max hardly blinked an eye at his undeservedly cold response, only gave him a thoughtful look that had him fighting to appear indifferent.

Thankfully, Elsa chose that moment to appear, coming down the stairs, looking almost startlingly fresh and cheerful given that his current mood could not be described as anything even remotely pleasant. "Good morning."

"Good morning, Elsa," he and Max both responded, he with as pleasant a tone as he could muster.

"Do you know, Elsa, Fraulein Maria has gone?" Max began.

"Gone?" Elsa turned her gaze on him, her brows lifted in delicate inquiry.

"Yes," he confirmed. "Franz found a note from her this morning, saying she had missed her life at the Abbey too much." He hoped he sounded detached but was rather afraid he sounded more despondent than detached.

"Ah," Elsa murmured. "I hope the children will not be too bereft."

He almost winced again at the mention of his children. "They will miss her a great deal, I'm afraid," he said and thought, but did not say, _As will I. _

As if on cue, he heard his children's footsteps as they came down the stairs with as much decorum as they would have shown in the last years before Fraulein Maria had come into their lives.

"Good morning, Uncle Max, Baroness," they murmured politely, but their voices and their expressions were subdued, at best, and downright melancholy, at worst.

He almost flinched again and forced himself to sound jovial as he said, "Well, let us go into breakfast now, shall we? Kurt, I'm sure you must be hungry."

Kurt's response to his light teasing was only a nod as he followed Friedrich and Brigitta into the dining room.

Georg offered Elsa his arm automatically, even absently, as they followed the children inside, his gaze falling on each of his children's faces in turn.

Liesl, alone, he could see, was making an effort to appear her usual self but even she was quieter than she usually was. Brigitta, Marta and Gretl, he noted with some concern, hardly touched their breakfasts. Indeed, Brigitta made a production of cutting her toast up into small pieces and then, instead of eating her toast, proceeded to cut the already-small pieces of bread up even smaller with a sort of grim concentration as if she were afraid of what might happen if she stopped, until her plate was littered with crumbs, the remnants of her toast, only a few bites of which she had actually eaten. Marta and Gretl did not even make a pretense of eating but sat quietly, studying their plates, and he was sure he saw Gretl wiping her eyes surreptitiously more than once.

He suddenly remembered that first dinner with Fraulein Maria and how she had reduced all his daughters, with the exception of Liesl, to tears with the implied reproach in her ostensible words of gratitude. He still didn't know precisely what "gift" the children had left in her pocket but, given the experiences of their past governesses, he could guess, probably a lizard or a frog, perhaps even a snake. (The last governess had been given a dead fish—and had left immediately afterwards, after a horrified and angry scolding to all the children and a declaration to him that his children were quite impossible.) All the other governesses had reacted with varying degrees of the same emotions of horror and anger and had scolded the children severely—which, he could see now, had only encouraged the children. Fraulein Maria, alone, had reacted differently and in so doing, cleverly turned the tables on his children. It was very like her, to understand and to know the best way to influence his children, even after so brief a time with them. She had understood his children better after that short time than he did after knowing them all their lives, he thought, with a pang of mingled guilt and regret.

He heard Marta make a soft sound that was almost a sob and glanced at her with quick concern to see her, too, wiping her eyes. Brigitta put her hand on Marta's in a quick gesture of sympathy that would have warmed his heart if he had not been so pained at the sight of their sorrow.

All in all, it was one of the quietest meals in his recollection, certainly the quietest meal they had ever had since Fraulein Maria had arrived.

Only Liesl, Friedrich and Kurt ate much breakfast—and even Kurt ate less than he usually did and with less enthusiasm.

He watched them with concern and finally said, "All right, if you're done eating, you may be excused. Run off and play."

"Yes, Father."

They left the dining room with an orderliness that would have charmed him even months ago—before Fraulein Maria—but which only filled him with dismay now.

"They might be tired after the excitement of the party, as well, Georg," Elsa spoke up, her voice reassuring.

He gave her a quick, half-absent smile. "It's possible," he agreed but couldn't quite believe it. He only hoped, fervently, that they would regain their spirits soon. It didn't seem natural to see his children so subdued and so quiet. He missed their smiles, missed their cheerful conversation—missed the way they had been with Fraulein Maria…

His eyes went of their own volition to the other end of the table where Fraulein Maria had usually sat, suddenly feeling a pang of loss—not for his children's sake, this time, but for his own.

He would never see her bright smile again, he found himself thinking, never hear her beautiful voice again, never be able to look at her simply for the pleasure he found in watching her unconscious grace and warmth of manner… He felt suddenly (almost amazingly) bereft, the hollow ache of missing someone taking possession of him. Fraulein Maria had gone—and he wondered what life would be like without her. How bleak, how cold, it would be—

He heard a soft clink and looked up with something like a start, remembering Elsa's and Max's presence, and managed a small smile for Elsa. "You are probably tired, Elsa, after all your exertions preparing for the party."

She gave him a quick smile. "Oh, I'm fine, Georg, but I will admit I am rather looking forward to a quiet day today."

"I'm sure we can arrange for that."

In fact, he reflected, the day would probably be much too quiet.

In which prediction, he was, unfortunately, proven only too right.

He sighed as he came in from the terrace where he'd been watching his children, fighting the melancholy he, too, felt.

Frau Schmidt stopped him in the hall. "Oh, Captain?"

"Yes, Frau Schmidt?"

"Fraulein Maria left a few things behind when she left. I was wondering what you would like me to do with them. Shall I arrange for them to be sent on to the Abbey?"

"No!" he answered immediately, rather too quickly and too forcefully and saw the surprise on Frau Schmidt's face before he hastily moderated his tone. "No, thank you, Frau Schmidt. I will decide what to do with her belongings at a later time."

"Yes, Captain."

Frau Schmidt left, going towards the kitchen, and he watched her leave for a moment before he found his feet moving, carrying him towards Fraulein Maria's room almost before he'd made the conscious decision to do so.

She had left some of her things behind? Why had she left in such a hurry? He found it hard to believe what she'd written in her note but at the same time, he knew how honest she was…

He reached the door of her room—her _former_ room, he corrected himself sternly—and paused, with his hand on the knob, suddenly hearing her voice in his mind singing about her favorite things as she'd been that night of the thunderstorm. He had been thoroughly irritated—and irritable—that night but he remembered it now with a smile. He should have known that Fraulein Maria would not care about discipline over soothing his children's fears; it was so like her to comfort his children with a song and laughter… And very like her, too, to have met his disapproval with such dignified courage. How very… disagreeable he had been that night, he thought.

He pushed open the door slowly, stepping inside.

It was entirely bare, a tribute to Frau Schmidt's efficiency, but she'd said that Fraulein Maria had left some things behind.

The very bareness of the room was somehow chilling, as if Fraulein Maria had taken all the warmth and joy which she'd brought with her when she left, leaving only dreary emptiness behind. He already knew his children felt that way.

His eyes wandered over the room, pausing on the new drapes hanging from the windows.

_I made them, from the drapes that used to hang in my bedroom. _

He heard her voice in his head as she told him that, facing him with that impertinent courage that had angered him so much that afternoon but which he remembered now with a flare of amusement, warmth settling in his chest. She had such courage, with the way she had met his anger with her own defiance. He could not think of another woman who would have responded so to his anger, the anger that had been used to make his subordinates tremble and snap to attention when he'd been on a ship. He had not appreciated it at the time, although even then, he'd had to grudgingly admit she had courage, but he did now, remembered it with admiration and something warmer than that.

He turned away, almost exasperated with himself for standing around like this in an empty room thinking about his children's former governess.

His gaze fell on the wardrobe and he stilled, remembering again why he had come here, because Frau Schmidt had said Fraulein Maria had left some things behind. On an impulse he couldn't deny, he stepped over to it, opening it and then froze.

_The blue dress. _She had left that lovely blue dress behind…

He remembered how she'd told him that when they entered the Abbey, their worldly clothes were given to the poor. Had she not wanted this dress to be given to the poor? Or had there been some other reason?

His hand reached out, slowly, irresistibly, to finger the soft folds of the dress and for a fleeting moment, he let his eyes close, seeing her as she'd looked that evening he had sung '_Edelweiss_'. She had been so lovely that night… He could picture her, the gentle, almost dreamy smile on her face, lived again that endless moment when he'd stared at her and _wanted_ her…

His grip tightened almost convulsively on the material as he felt a sharp stab of longing, suddenly missing her with an intensity that made his heart clench a little in his chest, missing her with an intensity which he hadn't felt since the first, bleak days after Agathe's death.

He missed her smile and her laughter, missed the sound of her singing—but more than that, he missed the atmosphere she had brought with her, the joy she had brought.

_Why_ had she left so suddenly, he wondered for perhaps the thousandth time that day.

He paused, suddenly feeling a little chill in his chest, at the thought that perhaps she'd left because of _him_, because she'd recognized, sensed, his reaction to her—his unruly desire—and had wanted to avoid the awkwardness of interacting with him.

Had she thought—surely she couldn't have thought that he might try to make her his—his mistress? He almost flinched away from the ugly thought, the ugly word. Surely she wouldn't have thought that…

But then why? If not because of him, then why? He could not think of another reason for her to leave so suddenly, with no notice like that.

She must have realized his growing feelings for her and fleeing was her way of telling him her answer. A rejection could hardly be clearer than this, surely. And yet—and yet… he couldn't quite seem to make himself believe it. It didn't seem to fit with what he thought he knew of her character… Irrational as the thought was.

He didn't know, had no answers for why she'd left. He was left with only this feeling of loss, a hollow ache in his chest…

He let out a shuddering sigh, abruptly releasing his grip on the dress and turning away, closing the wardrobe door firmly. He was behaving ridiculously, he thought with some irritation, as bad as any of the children.

And if he could not act cheerful, how could he expect his children to get over their sudden grief?

No more of this, he thought, with resolve.

Fraulein Maria had always been going to leave once the summer was over. She had only left sooner than expected, that was all. She had made him renew his relationship with his children; she had done what was necessary and now she had gone. There was no reason to feel so bereft.

So he told himself bracingly—although he found the assurance less than convincing. But he would, he told himself, act cheerfully as if there was nothing at all the matter. For his children's sake.

His resolve lasted through the rest of the afternoon and the evening as he made himself behave cheerfully, gently teasing his children (and pretending he didn't notice how half-hearted their smiles were.) Elsa, thankfully, seemed to notice the effort he was putting in and was quick to respond to his sallies with smiles and her usual brand of sophisticated wit and between her and Max, he was able to keep a conversation going smoothly.

His children were, he noted with an inward sigh, very quiet and subdued and, although they responded when spoken to, they did not speak otherwise, in a stark contrast to the laughing and teasing conversations of meal-times when Fraulein Maria had been around. He banished the thought as quickly as it had come; he would not think of Fraulein Maria.

He was glad to notice when it finally became late enough that he could send the children off to bed.

They rose and left with a quiet obedience he would have appreciated in earlier days but which now made him feel a small pang at his children's obvious low spirits.

With his children gone, he found it took even more of an effort to act as if nothing at all was wrong, their presence providing him with much of the motivation to behave so, especially as he wasn't overly given to exuberance by nature. But mindful of his duties as a host and not wanting Elsa to notice just how much he himself felt Fraulein Maria's absence, he tried.

But he couldn't deny the flare of relief he felt when Elsa finally stood up, saying she was feeling rather tired and thought she would seek her bed.

He stood, giving her hand a quick squeeze and a grateful smile. "Good night, my dear," he said, trying to hide his relief.

She returned his smile with a warm one of her own. "Good night, darling."

He climbed the stairs towards his own room, his steps slowing as he passed the door to the children's rooms, opening it to check on them, as he usually did—and then stilled, as he heard a sound like a muffled sob.

It was coming from the room Gretl and Marta shared and he moved quickly, pausing briefly, just once, to listen but all was silent and still in the boys' bedroom and in the room shared by Brigitta, Louisa and Liesl, and, reassured, he opened the door quickly.

Liesl was already there, seated on Gretl's bed with her arms around Gretl comfortingly, he noted with a mixture of surprise and affection for his eldest daughter, remembering how Fraulein Maria had commented on what a caring older sister Liesl was.

She looked up in surprise, her lips parting, but he shook his head quickly, moving over to kneel down by Gretl's bed, putting a caressing hand on Marta's head as he passed by, as Marta was awake and watching Gretl with sympathy and dismay.

"Gretl, what is it?" he asked softly.

She gave a small, hiccupping breath and met his eyes through her brimming tears. "I want Fraulein Maria," she wailed.

He flinched. "Oh, darling," he sighed and made to sit on Gretl's bed, taking Gretl into his lap as Liesl quickly stood up.

He caught her hand in his and she paused to look at him. "Go to bed now, darling. I'll stay with Gretl."

She nodded. "Yes, Father. Good night."

He gave her hand an affectionate squeeze. "Good night, Liesl."

She left the room quietly, closing the door carefully behind her, and he turned his attention to Gretl, tightening his arms around her.

"Hush now, darling," he said crooningly. "Everything's alright."

Gretl shook her head quickly, stubbornly, even as she nestled in closer to him in an instinctive gesture of trust that made him feel a swell of love mixed in with humility. "I want Fraulein Maria," she repeated.

_So do I. _He bit back the words. His missing Fraulein Maria would not help.

"I know, darling," he said quietly, instead. "But Fraulein Maria had to leave if she missed her life at the Abbey so much. You wouldn't want Fraulein Maria to be unhappy, would you, Gretl?"

She shook her head a little and he bent to brush his lips against her hair.

"There now, that's my good girl," he said softly. "It's getting late, Gretl. Will you sleep now?"

She clung to him tighter for a moment and then she nodded and he shifted, moving her off his lap and tucking her back into bed while he knelt on the floor between her and Marta's bed.

Gretl blinked up at him as he smoothed his hand over her hair. "I'll stay right here until you fall asleep," he promised.

"Will you sing a lullaby, Father?" Gretl asked.

He glanced over at Marta to see her nodding in agreement and then she added, "Fraulein Maria sang a lullaby for us sometimes."

The mention of Fraulein Maria sent a fresh pang of longing through him and he wondered- with an odd mixture of pain and frustration- if he would react that way to her name forever.

"Yes, I'll sing a lullaby," he agreed and was amply rewarded in the quick smiles that crossed Gretl's and Marta's faces as they relaxed further into their pillows.

His precious daughters…

He felt a surge of love and wondered—for the millionth time—just how he could have lived for so long without this. If it hadn't been for Fraulein Maria…

On the thought, he let out his breath and then, softly, began to sing. "Edelweiss, edelweiss…"

He kept his voice soft and slow as he sang, his gaze resting tenderly on his youngest daughters.

Marta's eyes were the first to droop and then close as she drifted to sleep; Gretl was somewhat slower to fall asleep as she wiped the tears from her cheeks before she fixed her eyes on him. He let his voice soften still further and Gretl yawned before her eyes, too, drifted closed. He began to repeat the song, still softer, until his voice was hardly a whisper, until he was sure that Gretl was asleep, before he stopped singing.

He lingered there, watching his daughters sleep, for a little while, brooding over them as a miser would over gold. And in the quiet of the night, he made a silent promise that he would keep his children happy, would never, ever, allow himself to slip back into the strictness and discipline of the past years.

It would be his gift, his token of gratitude to Fraulein Maria for what she'd done, even if she would never know of her impact. She might be gone—but the joy she'd brought, the love and the laughter she had brought with her, would last. He would remember the example she had set, the lesson she had taught him, and that would be her legacy, what he would always be thankful for, what he would always remember her for…

_~To be continued...~_

Thanks for reading and please review; I love knowing what you think of my writing.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

Author's Note: Apologies for how long it's been between updates but first, school started and has kept me insanely busy and, second, Maria appears to be the Captain's muse because once she left, he suddenly became very taciturn and didn't want to be written about! I also have to admit that I found it very hard to write about the Captain's proposing to the Baroness because, if I'd had my way, he never would have done it in the first place.

**Something Good**

_Chapter 11_

Things were no better the next morning, his children greeting him in the morning quietly and even his announcing with almost exaggerated cheer that they could have another holiday from their studies did not do much to noticeably lift their spirits. And breakfast was, again, another very silent meal except for the few, light comments he exchanged with Max and with Elsa.

He watched his children file out of the dining room with a frown of concern. He could not bear to see his children look so depressed and suddenly felt a surge of helplessness. What could he do? He knew quite well that there was nothing he could do to comfort them and the knowledge depressed him even more than the knowledge that Fraulein Maria was truly gone had.

"I'm sure the children will feel better soon, Georg."

He almost started at the sound of Elsa's voice, having almost forgotten her presence in his worry over his children, looking up at her. "Yes, I hope so," he replied.

"It might be easier for them, perhaps, if a new governess were to come to help distract them," she suggested with more diffidence than he'd ever seen her show before.

But the fact that she had thought about it, the fact that she cared enough to suggest it, warmed his heart and he gave her a quick smile. "You are probably right, darling. I will look into it."

She returned his smile with a soft smile of her own.

_A new governess_. He stared blankly at the sheet of paper in front of him where he was intending to write out the notice requesting a new governess—but could not bring himself to write it.

A new governess. Never before had he hesitated in requesting a new governess, had gotten quite accustomed to doing so, given how brief a time most of the governesses had stayed. 12 times already, he had written to request a new governess. But now, suddenly, he could not do it, did not want to do it.

A new governess would, he didn't doubt, bring more order and discipline to his children's life. (He tried not to think that the word, discipline, suddenly seemed so very dreary.) A new governess would teach them their lessons and supervise their games, would ensure that his children conducted themselves with the utmost orderliness and decorum, as he had told Fraulein Maria that first afternoon. He should want that, shouldn't he? It would be healthier for his children than this idleness was.

A new governess, who would only supervise his children's games and would no doubt sooner think of jumping into the lake fully clothed than she would of participating in the games. A new governess, who would treat him with the detached respect due to an employer and nothing more, who would never dream of confronting him or contradicting him.

He grimaced. No! He did not want that again.

He wanted… wanted laughter and singing and teasing. Wanted affection and honesty and warmth. He wanted to know his children were loved and cared for by someone other than himself, wanted his daughters to have a woman's influence and wisdom… Liesl, Louisa, even Brigitta, were all at an age where they needed a mother to talk to, to teach them how to grow into women. And Marta and Gretl were still young enough that they needed a woman's tenderness and care, the _softness_ of a woman's presence that he could not give them, no matter how much he loved his children.

He wanted his children to have a _mother_, not a governess, he thought.

His children needed a mother.

It was far from the first time he had thought it but the thought had an urgency which it hadn't had before.

Fraulein Maria had, he thought, ruined his children—and himself—for another governess.

He could not imagine, somehow, having another governess. Could not imagine replacing Fraulein Maria—she could not be replaced.

And a new governess was not what his children needed. He knew that. They needed a _mother_…

He sighed, heavily, acknowledging this and in that moment, he made up his mind, the decision he had been wavering over for weeks and months now, made.

He would ask Elsa to marry him. He would marry Elsa.

Usually, making up his mind gave him some ease, some comfort, the comfort of certainty, of knowing his course of action—but today, somehow, his decision only left him feeling a little hollow.

He sighed and on an impulse, stood up, his swift steps taking him into his bedroom, to his bedside, where he sat down, picking up the small portrait of Agathe.

Agathe's dear, familiar face smiled out from the portrait and he had a sudden flash of memory of the brilliant smile she'd given him after she'd accepted his proposal—just before he had bent his head and kissed her—not for the first time since he had stolen a few, very chaste kisses before his proposal and yet, for all that, it had _felt_ like the first time. A kiss that still lingered in his memory as the sweetest thing he had ever felt. He remembered the heady rush of joy he'd felt that day, remembered how confident he had been, in the arrogance of youth, so certain that nothing too terrible could ever happen to him, so certain that he and Agathe would spend a lifetime together.

And now… Agathe was gone and he was going to marry again.

_Marry! _The enormity of it, of the decision he'd made, suddenly struck him with a force that nearly left him dizzy.

To marry Elsa—to spend every day and every night with her…

"Ah, Agathe, you do understand, don't you?" he found himself speaking aloud, addressing the portrait as he sometimes found himself doing. "Our children need a mother and Elsa is a good woman, a fine lady. I am fond of her, truly, and I believe we will be very happy together…" He trailed off, wondering why he felt as if he were trying to convince himself of the rightness of his decision.

It _was_ the right decision. He had been thinking of it, considering it, for months now and he knew very well that a large part of his reason for inviting Elsa and Max to the villa this summer had been for Elsa to get to know his children and his home.

His children needed a mother and Elsa could provide that. She would do her duty, would no doubt, be as efficient a mother as she was a hostess. She might not have the touch of gaiety that Agathe had had, might not show her affection with the exuberance of… of Fraulein Maria—his mind abruptly shied away from that comparison but it lingered in his mind-- but she would be a good mother, he believed.

And now he only needed to ask her.

He was not given an opportunity during the day.

He spent a few hours with his children, trying to encourage them into laughter with limited success, and then there was always the persistent presence of Max.

It wasn't until that evening, after the children had gone to bed, that he accepted that now was the time.

He gave Max a pointed look—or rather, he directed several pointed looks at Max before Max chose to respond.

Max stood, stretching in a rather exaggerated fashion, as he said, "I believe I will seek out my bed. Good night, Elsa, Georg."

"Good night, Max," Elsa smiled.

Georg swallowed. Now that the moment he had been half-planning for all day was here, he found his mouth was suddenly dry and he was feeling decidedly nervous and unsure of himself. Not that he doubted her answer, but because he could not think of how to phrase this question he had somehow never really imagined he would ask any woman again.

He stood and deliberately moved to sit next to her, hesitated and then reached out to take her hand lightly in his.

She looked up and gave him a quick, soft smile.

"Ah, Elsa," he began, "have you been enjoying your stay here?"

Her smile didn't falter or change. "Of course, Georg. You have a lovely home and you have been quite the charming host," she said lightly.

He smiled slightly and then sobered, forging ahead. "Do you think you could live here, at the villa?"

"Why, Georg, I…"

He continued on, taking advantage of her pause. "I have been thinking about us, Elsa, about our relationship, and I believe we could be happy together. Will you marry me, my dear? Will you be a mother to my children?"

She gave him a brilliant smile. "Oh, Georg, of course I will."

He smiled at her. There was none of the elation he had felt when Agathe had accepted his proposal; now, oddly, he felt only relief, relief that the question had been asked, that his dilemma had been settled. "Thank you, Elsa. You have made me very happy," he added, almost as a second thought, the conventional words coming to his lips automatically.

He hesitated and then leaned forward to brush his lips lightly against hers. It was a very chaste kiss.

Elsa smiled at him, her eyes sparkling. "I'm sure we will be very happy, darling. I do love you, Georg."

"Yes, we will be happy," he answered, returning her smile. He knew he should return her words and tell her he loved her but he could not say the words, not when he knew they were not true. Agathe was the only woman whom he had ever said those words to, was the only woman he could imagine saying those words to. So he settled for smiling and then raising the hand he still held to his lips.

Elsa gave a soft laugh. "Oh, Max will be pleased when he hears our news."

"I'm sure he will be. He is always so delighted to know other people's business," he answered lightly.

"Max is like a curious child in some ways but you must admit, he is an amusing companion."

"Oh yes, he is definitely that," Georg agreed before he stood, keeping Elsa's hand in his. "Come, my dear, let me walk you to your room."

She stood up with her usual grace as they walked together through the now-silent house, until they stopped at Elsa's door.

He lifted her hand to his lips again. "Good night, Elsa."

She smiled, leaning in to brush her lips against his cheek in a fleeting kiss. "Good night, Georg. I will see you in the morning."

He nodded and stepped back, releasing her hand. "Good night," he said again.

She smiled at him and then vanished inside her room, leaving him to walk slowly towards his own room.

Well, it was done. He and Elsa were engaged. And now, they would only need to tell Max and then the children.

The children. He tried to picture their reactions but could not quite manage it. He did not think Liesl, at least, and possibly Friedrich would be surprised but he imagined that Marta and Gretl, especially, would be surprised, even confused, at this dramatic change in their lives.

They would be happy, he told himself firmly, as he prepared for bed. They were all going to be very happy. His children would have a mother again; their family would be complete once more.

Yes, he had made the right decision. He knew he had.

(And tried not to feel as if he were trying to convince himself of the rightness of it.)

And yet…

He sighed as he sank down onto his bed, picking up the picture of Agathe almost without conscious thought, letting one finger touch Agathe's cheek in the picture lightly. Closing his eyes, he could see Agathe so clearly, could remember the breathless joy he had felt when she had accepted his proposal, could remember the way her eyes had shone…

_Ah, Agathe, my dearest… _He was abruptly startled to feel the pricking of tears behind his eyes and he opened his eyes hurriedly, blinking, to keep the tears back—tears! Why, he had not cried over Agathe in years!

Carefully, even tenderly, he replaced Agathe's picture on the nightstand, looking up and around at this bedroom that had been his and Agathe's for so many years. This bedroom—in which he had not been able to sleep until almost a year after Agathe's death; it had seemed too empty, too cavernously large, without her warm presence inside it. But gradually, almost 10 months after her death, he had realized that he was being a coward, a rather fanciful coward at that, and he had forced himself to move back into this bedroom. The first few nights afterwards had been difficult but he had persevered and he had, characteristically, succeeded. This bedroom—which would, soon enough, become his and Elsa's, the thought somehow jarring.

Elsa was not Agathe.

But then, he told himself half-sternly, he did not want her to be Agathe. He was no longer the same young man he had been when he'd married Agathe either. He was older now, wiser now—as was Elsa. They would do very well together, he thought for at least the hundredth time that day. He was certain of it…

He had planned to tell his children and Max at breakfast the next morning but, as it happened, he didn't.

His children were, once more, remarkably quiet and subdued at breakfast, with only Liesl and Friedrich attempting to carry on a relatively normal conversation. And Georg had another moment of remembering how different breakfast times had been while Fraulein Maria was here, appreciating yet more strongly how smoothly Fraulein Maria had addressed all of the children and kept them smiling and talking easily. He forcibly pushed the thought away.

"Children," he began—and then inexplicably faltered, hesitated, as they all looked up at him, their expressions ranging from inquiring (Kurt's and Brigitta's) to vaguely courteous (Friedrich's, Louisa's, and Liesl's) to innocently questioning (Marta's and Gretl's). "Ah- what are your plans for today?" he asked, rather lamely—and kept his gaze on his children, rather than meeting Elsa's somewhat questioning eyes. He didn't understand why he had suddenly changed his mind—but the compulsion had been there, too strong to deny, and he'd obeyed even though he was rather irritated at himself for doing so.

"I thought we would spend the morning going over our lessons," Liesl answered quietly and quickly. "I do not know everything but I can usually help with most lessons."

He smiled at his eldest, his heart softening a little at her calm maturity. "I'm sure you make a fine teacher, Liesl," he assured her. "And then later today, what are your plans?"

"We- we haven't decided yet," Brigitta spoke up.

Georg opened his lips to respond but out of the corner of his eye, he saw a quick movement as Kurt reached out to grab the last pastry from Brigitta's plate.

Three things happened almost simultaneously as Brigitta immediately moved to retrieve it, Liesl turned to give Kurt a disapproving look, and Friedrich exclaimed, "Kurt!" sharply and made a slight motion with his arm—

Gretl's small cry of surprise and pain cut through all the ensuing bustle like a knife as everyone froze and he was halfway out of his chair before he'd even thought about it.

"Gretl, what is it?"

Georg knelt down by Gretl, who had wrapped her napkin around one hand, as tears swam in her eyes.

He heard a soft clink and glanced up to realize that Friedrich, who was seated next to Gretl this morning, had abruptly put down his tea cup and was staring at Gretl in something like horror, for a fleeting second looking suddenly like the very young boy he hadn't been in some time now. He swallowed and then said, "It was my fault, sir. I- I forgot that I was holding my tea cup when I moved and some of my tea splashed out onto Gretl's hand." His voice softened. "I'm sorry, Gretl."

Georg had a sudden, vivid memory of Friedrich as a young boy just around Gretl's age now, who'd come running inside and run headlong into one of the maids, causing her to drop the tea cup she'd been carrying. Remembered the way Friedrich's gray eyes had widened in his suddenly pale face and then the way he'd almost run to Agathe, hiding his face in her dress. "Oh, I'm sorry, Mother. I didn't mean to, truly I didn't!" Remembered the way Agathe had knelt and brushed his hair away from his forehead as she smiled gently into the gray eyes so like her own. "Of course you didn't mean to, my dear," she'd answered even as she gave the maid a slight nod over Friedrich's head as the maid had hurriedly stooped and cleared up the pieces and then almost scurried away.

Georg blinked and returned to the present to take Gretl's small hand in his. "Here, Gretl, let me see your hand." Only one of Gretl's fingers had been splashed by the boiling hot tea, he noted with relief, but the skin on that finger was already red and angry-looking, he noted. He stood and scooped Gretl up into his arms. "Come, darling, let's get a bandage for your finger."

He put his hand briefly on Friedrich's shoulder as he passed, in a silent gesture of reassurance, before he left the room, aware that the silence was even more subdued now than it had been before.

Gretl's finger was wrapped in a bandage that Frau Schmidt readily provided and he kissed the bandage gently before he bent and kissed Gretl's forehead as well. "There, does that feel better, darling?" he asked.

Gretl nodded and tried to smile but the effort was watery and faltered almost immediately as she nestled against him in a quick motion.

"What is it, Gretl? Does your finger still hurt?"

Against him, Gretl shook her head and then, after a moment, she answered, very quietly, "I want Fraulein Maria."

_Fraulein Maria. Of course. _He suppressed his sigh and knelt before Gretl again, wrapping his arms around her in a quick hug, reassured when she returned it easily. It occurred to him that this was the perfect opportunity to tell Gretl that soon Elsa would be her new mother, would be here to comfort her when she was hurt, but he could not make such an announcement to Gretl alone, and so he stayed silent.

He walked outside to the terrace after he had taken Gretl to the schoolroom where the rest of his children had gone after breakfast and saw immediately that Elsa had told Max. He could see it in her quick smile as she turned to greet him, could see it in Max's face even before Max reached for his hand and gripped his arm with his other hand as he shook it heartily.

"Congratulations, Georg. I am delighted for you both." Max paused and then added, with a glint in his eyes, "It is always lovely to see two such delightfully rich people get married; money is always so well suited to yet more money."

He managed a small laugh at Max's attempt at humor, even as he knew his gaze chilled a little. It was only Max's way, he knew, not meant to be crass but truly, he would never be comfortable with the way Max persistently spoke of money so openly. "Thank you, Max," he said dryly. "You are, as always, so flattering."

Max smiled, unperturbed by his response, as usual.

He excused himself after a little while to attend to some business matters which he had rather neglected in the minor upheaval caused by the party and Fraulein Maria's leaving.

He paused as he strode through the hall.

The door to the ballroom was ever so slightly ajar.

He knew—in his rational brain, he _knew_ it simply meant that one of the maids must not have closed it tightly after she'd finished dusting inside. He knew it—and yet, somehow, his heart reacted and he found himself moving over to the ballroom door, not to close it but to open it further…

The ballroom was, of course, completely empty and as dim and silent as it usually was but for one fleeting, foolish moment, he actually felt surprised and a little disappointed. Irrationally so.

It was as if he had, after all, almost expected to see Fraulein Maria, or a sort of phantom of her, pretending to curtsy extravagantly to some nonexistent guest… How very… characteristic… of her to be so fanciful, he thought, smiling and suddenly feeling like laughing at the memory of that memorable introduction.

Only to have his amusement abruptly vanish as he realized what he was doing—smiling fondly—foolishly!-- into an empty ballroom and feeling a pang of loss and longing, over the memory of his children's governess, _former_ governess at that! Clearly, having proposed to Elsa had thrown him off-balance in some way because he was becoming positively maudlin!

Now thoroughly irritated with himself, he shut the door to the ballroom with a decided click and almost stalked back toward his study where he immersed himself in his work with almost grim determination until lunch and returned to it after lunch as well.

He'd felt Elsa's mildly questioning glance at his silence during lunch but she had, with her usual tact, remained quiet, tacitly acknowledging his right to inform his children of their engagement in his own time. He'd thanked her with a warm smile and made an effort to be as cheerfully attentive a host and, yes, fiancée, as she could wish.

After lunch, he finished answering his correspondence, which included a brief note from Karl and Elisabeth thanking him for the party and where Karl mentioned, again, how nice it had been to see him again after so many years and urging him not to be such a stranger in the future, and finally stood up, letting the muscles in his back that had knotted up over the past hour or so loosen.

He glanced outside towards the lake as he passed the window and then paused, his attention caught at the sight of Elsa and his children. They were standing in a circle on the landing by the lake and appeared to be playing a game of some sort with the ball.

It was, he realized, the first time he had really seen Elsa interacting directly with his children, with no one else around, although he could see Max watching from the terrace. Elsa was, clearly, making an effort to become friendlier with them and he smiled slightly at the sight, feeling a rush of affection for her, along with reassurance that he had done the right thing. His children were subdued and quiet, he could see, but he tried not to let it worry him. After all, they had been subdued for Fraulein Maria at first too. His children would, he had no doubt, become more accustomed to Elsa and their usual liveliness would reassert itself, he thought bracingly.

So comforted, he returned to his desk to finish franking his letters for the post and then left his study, dropping the letters on the tray outside his study for Franz to send out the next day.

He heard the faint sound of his children singing, the first familiar notes of "The Sound of Music" begin from the terrace and headed outside, his steps slowing and finally stopping as his gaze moved over the tableau before him: from Elsa seated with something less than her usual grace at the table along with a pitcher full of some almost alarmingly pink liquid that he guessed was lemonade, to Max pacing slowly behind her, to Liesl with the guitar, and the rest of his children, singing with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm. He didn't think he had ever heard the lovely song sound so poignant, so sad. And even as he watched, first Brigitta and then Kurt wandered away from the group, every line of their bodies speaking of dejection.

He remembered with what joy they had sung at the party and felt a sharp pang of regret. Ah, had he lost being able to hear his children's music in the house when Fraulein Maria had left too?

It was a disturbing thought—all the more so because his immediate thought was, _yes_ he had—and he stepped forward, only to pause again, in some dismay as his children rather abruptly stopped singing. It was almost as if it were the time before Fraulein Maria, when his children believed that he didn't like them to sing—and it chilled his heart a little.

Max stepped forward. "They- uh- just wanted to sing for me, bless their hearts," he said diplomatically and rather lamely.

"That's lovely, lovely," Georg said with forced heartiness that, even to his own ears, sounded patently false. "Don't stop."

His words only fell heavily into the silence and in a desperate attempt to break it, he let himself whistle a few bars of the song—whistle for the first time in years.

Elsa- bless her- spoke up as well, trying to sound perfectly easy. "Something long and cool, Georg?"

He gave her a quick smile of thanks, pressing her hand briefly as he passed behind her. "No, thank you, darling."

"Father?"

"Yes, Brigitta?" Again, he injected forced heartiness into his voice as he replied.

"Is it true Fraulein Maria isn't coming back?"

_Fraulein Maria. _The name hit him in the chest like a fist and he had to force back his automatic—and unwanted—reaction, tried to sound utterly indifferent, and succeeded better than he'd expected, even to his own ears. "Fraulein Maria? Yes, I suppose it's true, yes." He sounded… absent-minded, preoccupied, as if he barely remembered who Fraulein Maria was, he thought—if only it were true. He tried to change the subject, eyeing the pink lemonade in the pitcher, with as much interest as if it were some strange, mythical object. "What _have_ we got here?"

"Pink lemonade," Elsa answered lightly.

"Laced with, uh, lemonade," Max responded at almost the same moment.

He gave an exaggerated shudder of disgust.

"I don't believe it, Father," Brigitta said. He had known, of course, that she would not give up the subject. Brigitta, who was, in some ways, the most quietly stubborn of his children—she took after him in that, he reflected with some irony.

"Hmm? Don't believe what, darling?" He almost winced at how indifferent his voice sounded, especially when contrasted with the hurt longing of Brigitta's tone and the expressions on his other children's faces. They were _all_ missing Fraulein Maria and he—he was acting as if he did not care, did not even notice-- and yet, what could he do? He _could not_ show his children how much he, too, missed Fraulein Maria, missed the laughter and the music and the joy she'd brought to the house.

"About Fraulein Maria."

"Oh, Fraulein Maria. Didn't I tell you what her note said?" He pretended to think about it, as if he couldn't remember. As if every dreary minute of the past days since Fraulein Maria had left weren't imprinted on his mind with stark clarity, reminding him with every moment of how wonderfully different it had been while she'd been here. "Oh, I'm sure I did… She said she missed her life at the Abbey too much; she _had_ to leave us. And that's all there is to it." He managed a light smile for Elsa before, again, trying to change the subject to the lemonade. "I think I'm brave enough to try some of that," he declared in a tone of exaggerated bravado—and then thought, belatedly, with something like bitter amusement, that the sentence could also mean something less direct—that he was "brave" enough to embark on a life without Fraulein Maria. Yes, he did think he was brave enough for that; he _had_ to be brave enough for that. For his children's sake, if nothing else. Fraulein Maria was gone; they had to accept it and move on.

"She didn't even say good-bye," Louisa spoke up now, her expression and her tone hurt and angry.

He inwardly winced at this glimpse of the old Louisa, the one who was more reserved than his other children, who felt things more deeply but showed it the least, the one who had been the slowest to trust him again and who now felt betrayed by Fraulein Maria. "She did in a note," he said firmly, hoping against hope that it would break through Louisa's defensive shell.

It didn't. "That isn't the same thing," she retorted.

Elsa poured him a glass of lemonade, handing it to him with a smile that tried to be perfectly easy and unaffected by the atmosphere. "Not too sweet, not too sour."

He accepted the glass with a smile.

"Just too… _pink_," Max rejoined and Georg had to stifle his snort of amusement at Max's tone—as if drinking such a pink liquid was somehow damaging to Max's dignity.

"Father," Gretl spoke up this time, bravely.

"Hmm?"

"Who is our new governess going to be?"

If he hadn't been expecting the question to be asked soon, he might have choked on the lemonade. As it was, it suddenly tasted bitter in his mouth. Irrationally.

He put the glass down, glancing at Elsa and meeting her eyes as he did so, before setting his hands flat on the table as if to lever himself to his feet, moving with deliberate decisiveness as he went to stand behind Elsa. "Well… you're not going to _have_ a governess anymore."

His children stared as if he'd just said something utterly incomprehensible. "We're not?"

"No," he paused, placing his hands on Elsa's shoulders, "you're going to have a new mother."

"A new mother?" Liesl repeated—her bewildered tone and expression echoed in the faces of all his other children. He could almost wonder if he'd suddenly started speaking in Russian, for all the incomprehension on his children's faces.

He managed a smile, intended to look reassuring that he would never act on something so important without due consideration for their happiness. "We talked about it last night; it's all settled." He moved one hand so he could press her hand affectionately between his. "And we're all going to be _very_ happy." He smiled down at Elsa, meeting her eyes as she looked up at him for a moment, until he was sure that, for the moment, he and Elsa looked the very picture of a happily-engaged couple.

He looked back up at his children—who were not, he realized, smiling but still, every single one, looking completely confused. Liesl, most of all, somewhat to his surprise—except, he thought suddenly with a flash of insight, no, it wasn't that surprising. Liesl, after all, was the one who remembered Agathe the best and so she would have the most difficulty accepting another woman as her "new mother"—more difficulty than Marta or Gretl who, he knew, could barely remember Agathe, if at all. It was, no doubt, why Friedrich too looked more confused than anyone else.

He understood—he did—but realized, belatedly, what this would seem like to Elsa. Not the warmest welcome to the family at all, he thought guiltily. He frowned and met Liesl's eyes as he made a quick gesture with his head.

Liesl understood and tried to smile, an attempt that didn't quite make it, but which he noted with a wave of affection, as she stepped forward to touch her lips to Elsa's cheek. Followed by Brigitta and then Friedrich (both of whom made a visible effort to smile), and then Marta and Gretl and then Louisa (her face looking so remote he almost flinched at the sight). He belatedly realized that he'd taken to drumming his fingers on Elsa's shoulders from sheer discomfort, in reaction to the quiet tension, and forcibly stopped the nervous motion.

Kurt came last and he lingered by Elsa's cheek—was the boy _whispering_ in her ear or just hesitating for so long?

And Georg relented to the mute awkwardness in his children's expressions, moving his hands to gently chivvy Kurt away. "Well, all right, all right, now run off and play."

His children obeyed—or at least, since it hardly looked like they were going off to play, they left, walking more slowly down the terrace steps than he could ever remember seeing them walk before, looking as dejected and disgruntled as if he'd sentenced them to a year of skipping dessert.

He felt Elsa's glance up at him and looked down at her with a smile as he clasped the hand she held up to him. "They were just surprised," he explained smoothly, trying to sound as if he believed it. "Liesl and Friedrich, especially, remember their mother very well," he added, skirting as close to a direct mention of Agathe's name as he had ever come with Elsa and Max.

"Oh, of course," Elsa answered. "It's perfectly understandable." She smiled rather bravely, as she tightened her grip briefly on his hand. "They are dear children and I will try to be a good mother, Georg."

"I know you will," he smiled at her.

She _would_ try to be a good mother, he did not doubt that. Would raise his daughters to be as smoothly elegant as she herself was, he had no doubt.

And as for the open affection and unconditional caring of a mother—well, his children would get that sort of affection and caring from him. It was what he had resolved after all, that he would never, ever let his children forget that they were the most important people in his life.

Yes, he repeated his earlier words to himself bracingly, they were all going to be very happy.

_~To be continued…~_

A/N 2: I've never really liked the scene where the Captain announces his engagement to the Baroness because I always felt he was acting strangely; I tried to explain away his behavior and hope I succeeded.

I can make no promises for when I'll next be able to update this fic since finals are coming up all too soon and I still have no time to write but, rest assured, I have no intention of abandoning this fic. Thank you, all, for reading and please let me know what you think!


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

Author's Note: Thank you, all, for reading and reviewing. Apologies for the delay in posting this but, again, real life got in the way and will, unfortunately, continue to do so, so I can't promise when the next chapter will be out.

Both the songs, 'Frere Jacques' and 'The Old Lady' are old children songs that were in existence at the time and I am taking some liberties in assuming that they would have been known in Austria at the time. In this chapter, I tried to make the Baroness as sympathetic as possible and can only hope I succeeded.

**Something Good**

_Chapter 12_

"Frau Schmidt?" The Captain stopped his housekeeper as she bustled past the open library door.

"Yes, Captain?"

"Will you tell the children that it is time for them to get changed for dinner?"

"Of course, Captain."

He had not seen or heard a sound from his children since he had told them of his and Elsa's engagement but he was sure they must have simply gone off, perhaps to the gazebo, to talk over the new change to their lives. They would recover from their surprise, he was sure, thought too well of his children's understanding not to think so. They would learn to care for Elsa once they grew to know her better.

So he told himself until his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a quiet knock on the door and he looked up to see Franz. "Yes, Franz, what is it?"

"It's the children, Captain." Franz visibly hesitated and he frowned a little—when was the last time he had seen Franz hesitate? "They cannot be found."

He stood up. "What?"

"The children have not been found, sir," Franz repeated. "They are nowhere to be seen, either in the house or on the grounds."

"What?" he repeated, again, inanely, and then brushed past Franz without even waiting for a response, his quick strides taking him outside.

He paused to turn to Max. "Max, have you seen the children?"

"Why, no, Georg, not since you told them of your engagement. What is the matter?"

He swung away from Max even before he'd finished the sentence, not bothering to stop and explain, as he hurried down the terrace steps and across the grass towards the gazebo, seeing with one glance that it was empty, and then he paused, scanning the grass for any signs of his children and finding none.

He had another thought and swung around again, his steps quickening into something close to a run, until he reached the landing for the lake, his gaze falling on the boat, still in its usual spot. And he breathed again. He had suddenly wondered if his children would have taken the boat out alone. The lake was large enough—and deep enough in certain parts—that if, God forbid, an accident had happened… He pulled his mind away from the thought, turning to face Frau Schmidt as she hurried up.

"Has anyone seen where the children went?" he asked tersely.

Frau Schmidt shook her head. "No, sir, we have all been busy within the house and had not thought to look for them until now, but they must have left the estate or we would have found them by now."

"Yes," he said briefly. "Very well, you may all return to your duties but have someone keep watch in case they return through the front. I will remain out here. And Frau Schmidt, have Cook hold dinner back by half an hour—no, make that an hour," he corrected himself.

"Yes, sir." Frau Schmidt dipped into a brief curtsy before she left.

His children had left the estate without a word to anyone; he felt a flicker of anger but it was quickly replaced by worry. Oh he knew that Fraulein Maria had taken them into Salzburg while he had been in Vienna but he'd thought his children, or Liesl and Friedrich at the very least, knew better than to leave the estate without a word to anyone. He would, he resolved, have a serious word with his two eldest children the moment they—

"Georg, what is it?"

Elsa's voice pulled him from his grim thoughts and he turned to look at her. "The children apparently left the estate and have not returned yet." He tried to sound calm, as if this sort of thing happened every day.

Elsa frowned a little. "Oh but surely they know better than to do that."

"Clearly, they do not," he clipped out and then immediately repented of his cool tone. He should hardly take out his worry for his children on Elsa. "Do not worry, my dear. I'm sure they will return shortly, if for no other reason than because I'm sure Kurt, at least, will be too hungry for them to forego dinner." He tried to smile.

"Shall I tell Frau Schmidt to push back dinner?"

"I already have," he assured her. "I pushed dinner back by an hour."

"I'm sure the children will be just fine, Georg. They would not have gone far," Elsa assured him.

"Yes," he responded somewhat absently, his gaze and his attention returning to the stretch of grass which led to the back gate. He was barely conscious of Elsa's quietly leaving him to return to the house.

He was not sure of exactly how long he waited out there, pacing, but the lengthening shadows told him it was some little time, at least fifteen minutes, before he saw the first glimpses of his children coming across the grass. In his immediate rush of relief, he almost forgot his irritation completely.

Their steps visibly faltered when they saw him waiting and then they continued on and he frowned a little at the distinct traces of nervousness in their demeanors. Exactly what harsh punishment did they think he had in store for them? And the decided nervousness made the rest of his irritation vanish immediately—no, he could not be angry with them.

He knew his children, knew they would not have been up to any mischief.

"So there you all are," he greeted them, trying to sound stern. "We had all begun to wonder when you were nowhere to be seen at dinnertime. Where did you all go for so long?"

He was aware of his children glancing at each other and then it seemed as if they all spoke at once. They had gone for a long walk—had gone into Salzburg to see something—had gone berry-picking—had gone bicycle riding. If he'd believed the flood of information, he would have thought that they had all separated and been doing something on their own.

"Quiet!" He raised his voice only slightly and it cut across his children's voices and they were immediately silenced and with another look, they stopped and ranged themselves on the landing before them—not, he noted with some relief, in their marching line but simply grouped together. "Now, it's not like my children to be secretive," he began.

"We're not being secretive, Father," Louisa spoke up bravely.

"Mm hmm," he murmured noncommittally, hiding his amusement. No, not being secretive but everything about their bearings told him that they didn't want to tell him where they'd gone. "And it's not like my children to be late for dinner."

"We lost track of the time," Friedrich explained quickly.

He might have believed it but for the immediate chorus of agreement that was just a shade too eager.

He fixed his gaze on each of his children in turn, frowning. "Alright, now who's going to be the first one to tell me the truth? Friedrich? Brigitta? Liesl?"

Liesl, alone, met his gaze directly, without flinching. "Where do you think we were, Father?"

"Hmm?" he felt his face softening, more in reaction to her sweetly obedient tone than to her words before he realized and narrowed his eyes at her, in a look that would have reduced his subordinates on his ships to confessing immediately.

It had no such discernible effect on Liesl as she only met his gaze and returned his look with an arch one of her own. "Well, if you don't believe us, you must have some idea where you think we were."

For a moment, it was all he could do not to stare at this young woman who was his eldest daughter. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard Fraulein Maria's voice saying, "One of these days, you're going to wake up and find she's a woman. You won't even know her!" He had the distinctly unnerving feeling that, indeed, his Liesl had suddenly grown up and become a young woman overnight.

He stopped at the sound of a giggle, Marta's nervous giggle. "Ah, Marta."

"Yes, Father?"

"You tell me." He knelt in front of his children until he was on a level with Marta's eyes.

"We just told you, Father," Marta answered immediately. "We were berry-picking."

He inwardly humphed. Berry-picking. They had no more been berry-picking than he had. But he could see he wasn't going to get anywhere with an interrogation and he was a little amused at how his children were united in their agreement not to tell him where they'd been. Very well, then, berry-picking it was.

And then was hard-pressed not to laugh out loud at the rigmarole they proceeded to tell him about their berry-picking experiences. Strawberries that turned blue because of the cold, indeed!

"Well, since you've obviously stuffed yourselves full of thousands of delicious berries, you can't be hungry anymore so I'll simply have to tell Frau Schmidt to skip your dinner," he declared—and then bit back another laugh at the way their faces fell, in particular Kurt's.

It was, he decided, as he made his way up the terrace steps, possibly the best compliment to their upbringing that all his children appeared to be such terrible liars. He smiled to himself as he re-entered the house, to meet Frau Schmidt on her way out to bring the children in.

"Ah, Frau Schmidt."

"Yes, Captain."

"The children will need a little more time before dinner." He glanced at the clock, checking the time. "I see no need to bring dinner forward from where it had been moved to so let it be served in half an hour, as we originally said."

"Certainly, Captain."

He watched Frau Schmidt turn back to tell Cook (who was not going to be thrilled but that could not be helped) since he wanted to give his children at least a few minutes of dismay as a mild punishment but had no intention of letting them go hungry either. A little wait would do none of them any harm.

He did wonder where they could have gone and why they were all so determined not to tell him. He knew his children too well to suspect they'd been up to any real mischief but this secrecy was rather suspicious, all the same. He couldn't imagine anywhere—he abruptly paused—no, that wasn't true. He could think of one place where his children could have gone and could also understand why they would not want to tell him: Nonnberg Abbey. He could easily guess that Fraulein Maria would have pointed out the Abbey that had been her home for so many years on one of their trips into Salzburg and he could also easily imagine that his children would have wanted to see Fraulein Maria.

He wondered if they had actually seen her—but no. He could remember the way they'd looked when they'd first returned and they hadn't looked as if they'd been particularly successful. No, they must have gone to the Abbey and then must not have been able to see Fraulein Maria. Or no—he felt a chill in his heart as another, more painful possibility occurred to him—they had gone to the Abbey and Fraulein Maria must have refused to return…

He continued on his way, going into the library for the few minutes until he intended to tell the children they could go get ready for dinner. He opened the book he had been reading—but ended up staring blindly at it, not reading a word. And in the silence within the house now, in the silence of his heart, he remembered the sound of laughter, the sound of music—remembered the exuberance of his children in their pillow fight, remembered cheerful yodeling and dancing puppets, remembered laughter and games during a picnic on the Untersburg… And he remembered sunlight gilding Fraulein Maria's hair, remembered laughter glowing in her eyes, remembered the touch of her hand and the feel of her waist as they danced…

Good God, what was he thinking? Fraulein Maria had left and remembering her would not bring her back and he was engaged to Elsa, he reminded himself sternly. He should not—_would not_ think of Fraulein Maria anymore.

He waited just over five minutes before he decided his children had been "punished" enough and went outside to get the children—and then stopped short on the terrace.

For one moment, his heart stopped and then leaped with unmistakable joy, his eyes focusing on one very familiar figure—one he hadn't expected to see again but it was unmistakably her. _Maria_.

He didn't even realize that it was the first time he'd thought of her as simply Maria and not Fraulein Maria; all he knew in one moment of mad, impulsive joy, was that she had returned, that the world suddenly seemed like an infinitely brighter place…

He had the sudden—rather sacrilegious-- thought that he knew exactly how the Resurrection was supposed to feel, this uplifting of joy at someone's return. The words he'd heard all his life in Church returned to him with new force: _on the third day, He rose again_… Now he knew what Easter morning should feel like—Maria had returned to him! On the third day, she had returned… It should have been a sacrilegious thought but it did not feel that way. And he could not believe that even God himself would begrudge him this moment, this wild burst of happiness. _Maria had returned._

He could have stood there, positively drinking in the sight of her—her slim figure in her turquoise print dress, her golden hair—forever.

He didn't know which of his children first caught sight of him but then a general outcry went up.

"Oh, father, no!"

"Father, Fraulein Maria's come back!"

"Father, Fraulein Maria's come back from the Abbey!" Friedrich's jubilant announcement rang out last.

He looked at his beaming children, the contrast so stark with their subdued and somber expressions in the past days, and how they were all surrounding Maria… And at that moment, in a flash of almost blinding clarity, he understood. Understood his children's emotions these past few days but more than that, he understood his _own_ emotions as well, as if the sudden joy over Maria's return had stripped the veils from before his eyes so he saw into his own heart clearly.

His children _loved_ her.

And so did he.

He did. For the first time, he allowed himself to admit it consciously—no more denials, no more half-truths. He loved her, was _in love_ with her. He, who had thought he had buried his heart with Agathe, had fallen in love again—with Maria.

He didn't quite know when it had happened—when had she become so dear to him?—but he could not deny it any longer. The surge of joy he felt at the sight of her, the way his eyes did not want to leave her but lingered over every inch of her face and form—he loved her.

This was more than gratitude, more than friendship, more than simple physical attraction or desire—although God knew he felt desire too. This was _love_.

Love that made every word, every smile, from her so infinitely precious to him. Love that had made his world seem suddenly bereft and gloomy without her. Love that made him want to close the distance between them and tug her into his arms and kiss her sweet face, her lovely lips…

He abruptly realized that he had simply been gazing at her, without speaking, and knew he should speak but was suddenly at a loss for what to say. The only words that rushed to his lips were words he could not simply blurt out. He wanted to tell her he loved her, that he'd missed her, that he never wanted her to leave again—but he couldn't.

"Good evening, Captain," she said and there was an odd inflection in her tone, as if she were forcibly controlling her voice.

"Good evening," he said, the most commonplace words but all he could think of.

He could not read her thoughts and that was rather jarring—she, whose expression had always been so open, was suddenly shuttered. He wanted to know what she was thinking, desperately wanted to know, too, why she'd left—because he knew, now, that it hadn't been from love of the Abbey. Her transparent happiness over being reunited with his children had been too sincere; he _could not_ believe that her love for the Abbey outweighed her obvious love for his children.

But the children were still there, still watching with quite avid curiosity.

He abruptly remembered—with distinct thankfulness—just why he had come out to the terrace in the first place. "Alright, everyone inside. Go and get your dinner."

"Dinner!" he was peripherally conscious of Kurt's excited exclamation and in a noisy rush of eagerness, the children ran back into the house.

They were alone.

He took a few steps closer. "You left without saying goodbye, even to the children."

A shadow of some emotion he couldn't read crossed her face. "It was wrong of me. Forgive me."

_Forgive her? He would forgive her anything… _

"Why did you?" he asked, as if he had every right to know. It must have been something extreme, something that somehow caught at her heart. He was suddenly very certain of that. He knew her and he knew she would not have left like that, would not have left without saying goodbye, unless it had been something vitally important. He wished, again, that he could read the look in her eyes but he couldn't.

She managed the ghost of a smile. "Please don't ask me. Anyway, the reason no longer exists."

He felt a flicker of curiosity—what no longer existed? He opened his lips to speak, to ask her what she meant—

"Fraulein Maria, you've returned!"

Elsa. He almost started, realizing with a cold shock that he had completely forgotten about her in these past few minutes. Since the moment he'd seen Maria again, realized she had returned, he had not thought of Elsa at all, his mind and heart focused only on Maria to the exclusion of all else.

And now, it all came flooding back to him—Elsa. Their engagement. And his mistake.

_My God, he was engaged to be married!_ To Elsa—to another woman.

Elsa came up beside him, slipping her hand into his unresponsive one. "Isn't it wonderful, Georg?" she smiled.

He stiffened, fighting the urge to withdraw his hand from Elsa's. It felt like… it felt like a betrayal of Maria, of his love, to hold Elsa's hand, he realized. The real betrayal—his betrayal of Elsa—somehow meant less to him at that moment.

Maria came forward and he wondered if he were imagining the fact that her expression had become even more remote, her form suddenly tense. "May I wish you every happiness, Baroness—and you too, Captain. The children tell me you are to be married."

He didn't want her to wish him happiness! _She_ was his happiness! The irony of the situation struck him fully as he tried to make himself smile—and didn't quite manage it.

Maria hurried past them—she looked… eager… to get away, he noticed and felt a pang.

"You are back to stay?" he found himself blurting out, before he'd consciously realized he was going to do so.

She paused and turned and he realized he was holding his breath as she gave a small shake of her head. "Only until arrangements can be made for another governess."

She was leaving. Again. And he knew he couldn't let her go.

A hand slipped into his and he almost started as he turned to look at Elsa, realizing with a sudden chill that he had, for the second time in less than five minutes, completely forgotten about her. She gave him a small smile and he tried not to notice the question, the hint of uncharacteristic uncertainty, in her eyes, as he gave her a quick, automatically reassuring smile, patting her hand absently as they walked back into the house together.

It was only a few steps but he knew what he needed to do even before they re-entered the house—the _only_ thing he could do.

He could not marry Elsa.

That one fact stood out clearly in his mind. He had behaved dishonorably—stupidly—but he knew now that he could not do it. He could not marry Elsa, could not make those sacred vows before man and God when he did not mean them. Thinking about it now, it seemed almost incredible that he had been prepared to make those vows even knowing he did not love Elsa. For his children's sake, he had thought—and for his children's sake, he would have gone through with it. But no longer.

He could not marry one woman while knowing that his heart belonged to another. To _Maria_. Just the mere thought of her name felt like a benediction to him.

"If you'll excuse me, Georg, I must get dressed for dinner."

He blinked and managed a smile for Elsa, even as he felt a pang of guilt—God, how was he going to tell her? "Of course. I shall see you in twenty minutes in the dining room."

Elsa gave him a quick, brilliant smile. "Until then, darling."

The twenty minutes passed quickly and Georg could almost swear the house itself seemed more alive, brighter, with Maria once again inside it. And she had, he realized, brought back laughter too; he could, for the first time in more than two days, hear the sound of his children talking and laughing together as they dressed for dinner and heard the sound of their running steps as they went to Maria's room.

Max—as usual, the first person at the dinner table— was already seated when he entered the dining room and he had just seated himself when his children entered, bringing Maria with them. Maria had changed, he saw, into the softly-clinging blue dress—and looked so lovely he had to make a concerted effort to tear his gaze away from her before his staring became obvious. Gretl and Marta were gripping her hands as if they never intended to let her go, only releasing her once she was seated.

"Well, welcome back, Fraulein. I'm delighted you've returned," Max greeted Maria with a smile.

Maria returned his smile. "Thank you, Herr Detweiler. It is good to be back."

She hesitated almost imperceptibly and then, finally, glanced at him. "Good evening, Captain," she murmured politely.

"Good evening, Fraulein," he managed to respond, having to steel his voice to keep the emotion out of it.

He pulled his eyes away from her to glance over his children, his heart almost clenching inside him at the sight of their bright, smiling faces, that could not have been more removed from the serious countenances from the past two days. It was certainly, immediately clear that his children had no intention of letting Maria out of their sight quite yet.

Franz had just begun to serve dinner when he heard Elsa's steps behind him and then saw something like shock flicker over Max's face before his expression regained its usual half-sardonic detachment. Georg automatically rose and turned to look at Elsa—and felt his jaw slacken somewhat at the sight of her as she swept gracefully into the dining room.

Good heavens! Elsa had dressed for dinner with a vengeance, changing into a bright red formal gown that showcased her figure nicely and a short jacket covered in sparkling black and red beads. It was a gown that was decidedly more appropriate for one of the glittering salons of Vienna than for a private family dinner and while he knew Elsa enjoyed clothing that emphasized her beauty, she had generally dressed with as much elegant simplicity as she was capable of while at the villa, in keeping with its country-like atmosphere. _This_ gown, on the other hand, was Elsa at her most dramatic and provocative. Now, tonight, Elsa was every inch the woman who was Vienna's most brilliant hostess and—in spite of his automatic admiration for her cool beauty—the effect was somewhat jarring, to say the least.

Elsa gifted them all with a bright smile that passed impartially over his wide-eyed children and Maria to Max before settling on him, her smile deepening ever so slightly with unmistakable intimacy glittering in her eyes. "Good evening, everyone; I do hope I haven't kept you waiting," she declared.

"No, you are perfectly on time," Georg assured her with instinctive courtesy.

Elsa gave him a swift, bright smile. "Shall we have some wine, darling? After all, we must celebrate Fraulein Maria's return. Franz?"

He caught Franz's eye and gave a slight nod, approving Elsa's request. He could not entirely understand why Elsa was behaving so but he could not refuse her wish for wine now, not with the knowledge of the hurt he was going to inflict on her weighing heavily on his mind.

Franz reappeared almost immediately and placed wine goblets before himself, Elsa and Max and was just turning away when Elsa spoke up.

"Won't you have some wine with us as well, Fraulein Maria?"

The question drew his gaze inevitably to Maria, to the way she almost started, her eyes widening as she looked at Elsa. "Oh, no, thank you, Baroness," she answered quickly.

He tried, very hard, not to notice the very becoming flush on her cheeks in her mildly flustered response at Elsa's surprising question. And did notice, inescapably, the way her entire expression softened, almost glowed with warmth, as she returned her attention fully to his children, reaching out a caressing hand to briefly touch Gretl's hair.

He had to tear his gaze away from Maria—again—focusing instead on the wine Franz had just poured with as much intensity as if he expected to find his salvation in the glass of liquid. He would not—_could not_ look at Maria again, never mind how she seemed to draw his gaze like a lodestone. He would not behave so shabbily to Elsa by staring openly at Maria.

And he kept to his resolution strictly, keeping his gaze focused on his plate or at Elsa as much as possible.

He was forced to admit within minutes of the awkward meal that, as a technique of keeping his thoughts from Maria, his resolution was an utter failure. He hardly heard a word of what Elsa spoke, responding when he had to in monosyllables or with equal brevity. And he was aware with every nerve, every fiber of his being, of everything Maria did. He could have sworn he sensed her every smile, her every movement. His ears strained for, and caught, the sound of her clear, soft laugh, her affectionate words for his children. His children, who spent the entire dinner in telling Maria, in detail, everything they had done while she'd been gone, the lessons they'd studied that morning, the games they'd played, Gretl recounting for Maria's ready sympathy the story of how she'd been burned by Friedrich's tea that morning. The only thing, he noted, that his children did not mention, no doubt because of his presence, was that they had gone to the Abbey that afternoon.

His awareness of Maria was, he realized belatedly, very similar to what he'd felt for Agathe in those first, early days of their courtship. It was a feeling that had become gentler, more contented, as the first years of their marriage had passed and he'd become completely accustomed to Agathe's presence at his side, in his house. It was a feeling he had never had with Elsa; when she was in the room with him but not immediately before him, he only vaguely registered her presence in the same way he registered the presence of any other person in the room but he'd never felt this sort of consuming hyper-awareness of her.

Elsa, even seated right beside him as she was, did not—could not—impinge on his consciousness as Maria did, seated at the other end of the table.

Fool that he was, for not realizing the truth sooner.

If dinner was an uncomfortable event, then the time after dinner was yet more of a strain on him. For at least during dinner, he had the excuse of the meal and his wine as excuses for his distraction but afterwards, afterwards he had no such excuse.

Especially not with his children crowding around Maria, drawing his gaze with their cheerful faces, almost as much as Maria herself did.

"Fraulein Maria, sing something for us," Marta pleaded and was immediately seconded by all of his children.

"Oh yes, please, Fraulein Maria, sing something we know," Brigitta chimed in.

He saw Maria's half-bashful, half-questioning glance in his direction and opened his mouth only to hear Max's voice speak up.

"Yes, do, Fraulein. We would all enjoy a little music, I am sure."

"Very well," Maria relented, smiling around at the children and slipping her arms around Gretl and Marta as they drew closer to her on the settee. "Hmm…"

After a moment, a quick smile crossed her face and she began to sing a song he immediately recognized as an old children's song. "_Frere Jacques, Frere Jacques, Dormez-vous, Dormez-vous?_"

He saw the recognition in his children's eyes and, at a nod from Maria, they chimed in, their voices blending sweetly. Maria led them, conducting his children with one hand, her gaze moving over each of his children's faces in turn with so much affection in her eyes that he felt his heart clench.

And if he had had any doubts about his course of action, that one moment would have ended them. Even had he not loved her himself, he thought rather vaguely, he should marry her for the sake of his children. Watching her with his children, he saw all he wanted for them, saw the mother he wanted them to have.

She was all he wanted for himself—with her honesty and her spirit and her quiet strength and her loving heart and her warm beauty. She was also all he wanted for his children—with her gentle wisdom, her open affection.

The song ended and he immediately applauded, to be joined by Max and Elsa.

"That was lovely," he smiled, careful to keep his approving gaze on his children and not allowing himself to focus on Maria.

"Yes, indeed," Max added. "It seems, Fraulein, that the children require your presence to sing to the best of their ability."

"Thank you but I doubt that. I'm afraid I had very little to do with how well the children sing, Herr Detweiler. Their voices are their own," Maria said, shrugging off the compliment for herself as he'd known she would.

"Shall we have another song?" Elsa joined in, rather to Georg's surprise. She directed her smile at the children. "You children do sing so well."

"Thank you, Baroness," Liesl and Friedrich murmured politely while Brigitta and Kurt nodded in Elsa's direction in acknowledgement.

"Children?" Maria asked, her gaze moving over each of their faces. "What shall we sing next?"

"I want to sing the Old Lady song," Marta spoke up, giggling a little.

An indulgent smile crossed Maria's face and was echoed in Leisl's expression.

Maria glanced around. "All right, then, the Old Lady song?"

Gretl, Kurt and Brigitta beamed up at Maria and Georg had the distinct impression that they were still so happy that Maria had returned that they would have cheerfully agreed to sing anything.

Maria nodded and began to sing as the children immediately chimed in.

_There was an old lady who swallowed a fly_

_I don't know why she swallowed a fly—perhaps she'll die. _

_There was an old lady who swallowed a spider, _

_That wriggled and wriggled and jiggled inside her… _

He had to smile at the way Gretl and Marta giggled through that line and then continued smiling as he listened to the ridiculous progression of animals the old lady had swallowed.

_There was an old lady who swallowed a horse—she's dead, of course! _

His children finished up the song with a flourish, almost shouting out those last, surprising four words and startling a laugh out of him at the abrupt ending.

Marta and Gretl were both giggling as the song ended and Gretl leaned over until she was snuggled confidingly against Maria's side. Maria's smile—her entire person, it seemed to him—softened as she looked down at his youngest daughter, her arm going around Gretl's shoulders in an affectionate embrace.

And it almost seemed as if he stopped breathing for a moment in the surge of tenderness that swelled up inside him at the sight.

He was almost thankful when the pretty picture was broken in another moment as Maria straightened up. "All right, children, it's time to go to bed."

His children rose immediately with obedient murmurs and followed Maria out of the room after wishing him, Max, and Elsa polite good nights. He watched them go, a slight smile in his eyes as he noted their cheerful conversations and smiling faces as they left.

Silence reigned for a few minutes after their departure before he looked up to notice Frau Schmidt standing in the doorway and he immediately stood up, excusing himself to Max and Elsa.

"Yes, Frau Schmidt?" he asked her, falling into step beside his housekeeper as they moved away from the sitting room toward his study. This was quite clearly a household matter that had no need to be discussed in an open corridor.

"Captain, I was wondering if, since Fraulein Maria has returned, I might take the afternoon off tomorrow."

Of course. He was not entirely surprised by this request as he had specifically requested Frau Schmidt to forego her usual afternoon off the day before on the grounds that he preferred her to keep an extra eye on his children during the day. It had become the usual custom in all their times in between governesses in the past and he'd felt little doubt that Frau Schmidt would agree to his request. But now that Fraulein Maria had returned, it was entirely understandable that Frau Schmidt would feel the need for her usual day off.

"Certainly, Frau Schmidt," he agreed easily. "There is no difficulty in that."

She gave him a quick smile as she curtsied. "Thank you, Captain."

He nodded as she left and then lingered in his study, feeling a sense of relief at being away from Elsa for the moment. He could not feel entirely comfortable in her presence, not when he knew what he needed to do. Guilt and the need to keep his unruly eyes from straying in Maria's direction too often had made him tense during the course of dinner and afterwards so he welcomed this chance at solitude, brief as he knew it must be.

He suddenly recollected something and strode over to his desk, looking down to see the notice announcing his engagement to Elsa which he'd written earlier that day in order to send to the newspapers the next morning. He grimaced a little and then picked up the sheet of paper, tearing it through the middle. There could be no such announcement now.

How would he tell Elsa, he wondered, his chest feeling a little hollow with the beginnings of nervousness. What words could he possibly use to convey his regret and his apology and his resolve? He could not mention Maria's name, of course. He would not mention Maria's name because Maria deserved to hear any declaration of his feelings for her first before he put them into words to anyone else.

As for how to tell Elsa… He would have to make it clear that any marriage between them would be impossible.

He mentally tried out a few sentences in his mind. _I'm sorry, Elsa, but I find I cannot keep you to our engagement. _No, that sounded too formal, too stilted. _ I cannot marry you, Elsa. _He grimaced. Much too blunt. _I'm sorry, Elsa, but it is not going to work between us. _Better but he still winced at the thought of saying those words, of picturing the happiness leave her expression so swiftly.

Because he did care for Elsa. He cared for her, was grateful to her, but he understood now that she wasn't what he wanted, what he needed, in his life. And he didn't think he could give her what she needed either. They were too different, after all. Elsa belonged in the city, in Vienna, was in her element in the glittering Society parties; he had never felt entirely comfortable in Society and he much preferred the peace of life outside of the city, the peace here at the villa.

Yes, he cared for Elsa. But he _loved_ Maria.

And that difference was everything.

He stifled a sigh as he began walking towards the terrace, suddenly feeling a need for some fresh air.

The night was warm, the sky clear and the moon bright. It was-- His thoughts abruptly broke off as he stilled, his eyes focusing on _her_. _Maria_.

She was walking, her steps slow and idle, in distinct contrast to her usual energetic movements. Every line of her figure almost screamed of introspection, of thoughtfulness, and, yes, of melancholy as well and his breath stilled inside him at the sight.

He tried to tell himself he was being foolish, himself inventing what he saw, but he could not help the thought that Maria's melancholy was for _him_, because of his engagement. He remembered the veil that had abruptly lowered earlier that evening, shielding her thoughts and her emotions so completely, could guess with perfect confidence that his children would have immediately told Maria of his engagement…

He had tried not to read anything into it but now, watching her dispirited meandering, he could not help the flicker of hope in his heart. Perhaps she did care…

"There you are!"

He started at the sound of Elsa's voice, suddenly realizing how long he'd been absent.

She joined him on the terrace and he forced himself to give her a small smile even as he stiffened, inwardly wincing. He hoped it wasn't obvious that he'd been watching Maria, thinking about Maria, but even as he hoped, he knew it was useless. Of course it was obvious. Elsa was neither blind nor stupid.

Now was the moment of truth, when he had to tell Elsa. Now, when they were alone. He might not have wanted to do it with Maria in their line of sight but it was too late for that now.

"I really must speak to Cook about the weiner schnitzel. It is entirely too delicious for my figure," Elsa began lightly. "And it makes you much too quiet at the dinner table. Or was it the wine?"

"Oh, undoubtedly the wine," he lied.

He sensed her shift beside him, her hands moving a little uncertainly along the terrace rail.

"You have no idea what kind of trouble I'm having trying to decide what to give you for a wedding present," she began again.

He almost flinched. It may have been the topic most designed to make him feel uncomfortable, guilty.

"Oh, I know I'm enough," she added with a small smile, touching his arm in a fleeting caress, "but I do want you to have some little trifle for the occasion. At first, I thought of a fountain pen, but you've already got one…"

She was almost babbling as she continued on—babbling in a way entirely uncharacteristic of her, with her impeccable poise—and he felt a pang of guilt and remorse. This was, he knew, his doing.

He straightened up. He needed to end this now; it was too awkward for both of them. "Elsa," he began.

She didn't stop, continued on as if she hadn't heard. "Georg, how do you feel about yachts—a long, sleek one for the Mediterranean and a tiny one for your bathtub?"

He forced a small laugh for her benefit as he turned to face her. "Elsa."

"And we have to go on our honeymoon," she continued on with distinctly forced blitheness. Now, that is a real problem. I thought a trip around the world would be lovely but then I thought, 'oh, Elsa, there must be someplace better to go.' But don't worry, darling. I--"

"Elsa," he said again, a little more firmly.

"Yes, Georg?"

He met her eyes, trying not to flinch at the sight of the small smile trembling on her lips. "It's no use, you and I," he finally said, firmly but also as gently as he could. The smile immediately faded from her lips, leaving her looking more vulnerable than he could ever recall her looking before. "I've been dishonest to both of us," he admitted, "and utterly unfair to you." He forced himself to continue on. "When two people talk of marriage--"

"No, don't," she interrupted him softly. "Don't say another word, Georg, please?" She glanced away and then met his eyes again, her own eyes sparkling with tears. "You see, uh, there are other things I've been thinking of." She gave him a small, brave smile. "Fond as I am of you, I really don't think you're the right man for me. You're, um—you're much too independent. And I—I need someone who needs me desperately." She managed another small smile. "Or at least, needs my money desperately," she finished with a momentary flash of her usual self.

"I've enjoyed every moment we've had together and I do thank you for that," she went on softly, soberly. "Now, if, um, if you'll forgive me," she continued in a somewhat brisker tone, "I'll go inside, pack my little bags, and return to Vienna, where I belong."

_Oh, Elsa, I am sorry. I never wanted it to end like this. _

Her eyes faltered before his, as she glanced away, out towards the moonlit lake, and then back again. "And somewhere out there is a young lady, who, I think, will never be a nun."

He stiffened again, and at any other time, might have felt a flicker of annoyance for the impertinence but not now. It was, he decided, all Elsa could do, the last salvo before a graceful surrender.

She pressed her lips against his cheek, lingering for just an instant in a gesture that felt like forgiveness and a benediction and a farewell, all at once.

She drew back to meet his eyes fully, grasping his hand in hers, as she gave him a last, small smile. "Auf weidersehen, darling."

And then she left.

_Ah, Elsa… _He had treated her badly, he knew, which she did not deserve. He suspected the remorse he felt for how he had treated Elsa would linger for a little while, but so it should. It was the least penance he could do.

He watched her go before his gaze turned towards the lake—or, more accurately, towards Maria. Maria, who was his dream and his hope and would be—if she wished it, if she cared—his future, as well…

He lingered out on the terrace for a little while longer, until he heard, very faintly, the sound of a car starting and driving away and knew that Max must have agreed to drive Elsa into Salzburg to catch the next train to Vienna.

Elsa was gone now.

And he was free—free to seek out his dream, his future happiness… If _she_ only cared…

_~To be continued… (With the part you've all been waiting for…) _


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

Author's Note: Apologies for the very long wait for this chapter. This is not, as you'll see, meant to be the end of this fic but at the same time, I still haven't decided just how much longer I plan for it to be and haven't had any time to write any more of it either.

Thanks, as always, for reading and reviewing!

**Something Good**

_Chapter 13_

He walked slowly, his steps measured and silent in the grass. He could see her now as she wandered, idly, under the trees around the gazebo. In her pale blue dress with her slim, graceful figure, she almost seemed at one with the moonlit night, looked almost too beautiful and too pure.

He felt a sudden pang. God, how was it possible for him to even hope that she—so lovely, so good—might care for him? At that moment, looking at her, she looked as if she were more closely akin to the angels.

And yet... And yet, surely, no angel had ever looked so pensive, so melancholy.

So he walked on, hope stirring in his heart. He didn't think he was more arrogant than any man had the right to be but he couldn't help but hope. Not with the memory of the Laendler in his mind, the memories of her smiles and her blushes and her eyes...

And he wondered exactly what he was going to say to her. He couldn't think of anything, the right words to tell her how he felt. He couldn't simply blurt out that he loved her but those words were all he could think of.

"Hello," he finally settled for saying.

She almost started as she looked up at him sharply.

"I thought I just might find you here," he declared—with marginal truth, since he'd known where she was.

She stood up. "Was there something you wanted?"

He almost winced at her uncertainty. Was this the young woman who had confronted him so bravely, who'd saluted him with such jaunty, irresistible charm? The thought had him deliberately injecting as much lightness into his voice as he could, although even to his own ears, it sounded false. "No, no, no," he said quickly, reassuringly (he hoped). "Sit. Sit down, please."

She did. But it could not be said that she relaxed.

He could practically feel the tension radiating from every line of her figure as he joined her on the bench; she looked quite ready to leap up and run at the smallest provocation. He gave her a slight smile that was meant to be reassuring but it didn't seem to affect her as she only looked away, her gaze falling before his.

They sat in silence for a moment as he wondered, a little frantically, what he should say, how he could ask her how she felt about him, if she would stay with him...

So much for his vaunted sophistication, he suddenly thought. Being with Maria now, he suddenly felt as tongue-tied as the youngest school-boy faced with a pretty girl.

The comparison startled a brief chuckle from him and he felt her surprised look as he glanced at her.

"You know, I was thinking—I was wondering—two things," he began. He kept his gaze carefully turned away from her, looking out over the grass. "Why did you run away to the Abbey... and what was it that made you come back?"

He glanced at her and, again, her gaze faltered before his. His mouth suddenly went dry as he felt a swift flash of desire at the sight of the lovely curve of her neck and shoulders in profile. He wanted to bury his lips in that spot where her neck met her shoulders rising above the modest neckline of her dress...

"Well, I had an obligation to fulfill and I came back to fulfill it," she answered slowly. She glanced up at him quickly.

"Is that all?"

"And I missed the children," she added more certainly.

Yes, he had no doubt she had missed the children. She cared for them so. "Only the children?" he found himself asking without even realizing he was going to. The words just seemed impelled from him; he needed to know if she'd missed _him_ too...

"No."

The word was spoken so softly he could barely hear it and his heart leaped and then—

"Yes!" she corrected herself quickly—but her correction could not affect the elation he felt. She had missed him too!

"Isn't it right I should have missed them?"

The question surprised a small laugh from him. "Yes, yes, of course!" He loved her for loving his children. "I was only hoping that perhaps you... perhaps you might..." he trailed off, suddenly unsure of himself, of what to say. _Only hoping that she might—what? Love him? Need him as he needed her?_

"Yes?" she asked softly—not as if she'd meant to but as if she, too, couldn't help but ask.

He glanced at her before it was his turn to look away. "Well, nothing was the same while you were away," he admitted in an almost laughable understatement. "And it'll be all wrong again after you leave. I just thought that perhaps you might, um... change your mind?"

She looked away and then stood up, walking away from him. "I'm sure the Baroness will be able to make things fine for you."

The Baroness? For a fleeting second, he didn't understand but then realized that he hadn't—stupidly—told her about his broken engagement, had been acting as if she already knew. What must she think of him!

"Maria." Her name came easily to his lips—so easily he entirely forgot that he'd never called her by it before. "There isn't going to be any Baroness."

"There isn't?"

"No," he affirmed as he stood up, beginning to walk a little restlessly.

"I don't understand."

"Well, we've called off our engagement, you see," he murmured.

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"Yes." _Wait. What? _"You are?" _She_ was sorry? Why would she—had she wanted him to...

She stopped and turned to stare at him, her eyes wide. "You did?"

"Yes," he murmured absently, almost forgetting entirely what they were discussing as he looked at her, saw the expression in her eyes. The dawning emotion in them.

He wanted to take her into his arms but pushed the impulse back. No, not now, not with Maria—young, innocent Maria. She deserved more care and more tenderness than that.

Instead he moved around in front of her, stopping beside her. "Well, you can't marry someone when you're..." he met her eyes, let her see all he felt in his as he finished softly, "in love with someone else. Can you?"

His breath stalled in his chest as he stared at her, at her beautiful blue eyes. Her _honest_, beautiful, blue eyes. He could see, he realized with an odd mixture of humility and triumph and joy, her heart in her eyes, pure and bright and true. He could see love in her eyes—all the love he had ever dreamed of. All the love in the world was shining in her lovely eyes...

Slowly, very slowly, her clear eyes never leaving his, she shook her head.

He lifted one hand to touch her chin, drawing her closer as he bent his head—slowly, giving her time to draw back if she wanted to. She didn't. Her eyelids fluttered closed at the last moment...

And he kissed her.

He kissed her softly, tenderly, his lips just touching hers and lingering with the slightest pressure for a moment until he felt her lips soften beneath his, cling to his lips.

He felt a surge of desire, white-hot and swift, but tamped it down determinedly. He would not frighten her, his sweet, innocent Maria. There would be time and more for desire later...

He drew back to see her eyes, almost glowing in the moonlight. His breath tangled in his throat—Lord, she was so beautiful. His hand went to her shoulder to draw her closer to him, his lips brushing against her forehead as she hesitated for a fleeting moment before she went into his arms, her head nestling against his shoulder.

He pressed his cheek against her hair, lifting one hand to lightly ruffle the soft hair at the nape of her neck. She was unused to this sort of intimacy, he could tell, could feel a fine species of tension in her body, in spite of the utter trust with which she rested against him.

"The Reverend Mother always says, 'when the Lord closes a door, somewhere he opens a window.'"

He couldn't help a tender smile at the familiar refrain of "the Reverend Mother always says…" He had never met the Reverend Mother of Nonnberg Abbey but he imagined she must be a remarkable woman, was disposed to think well of her if only for the respect and affection with which Maria always spoke of her.

He shifted, cupping her face in his hands so he could meet her eyes. "What else does the Reverend Mother say?" he asked with tender amusement.

Maria didn't return his smile, met his eyes seriously. "That you have to look for your life."

His smile faded as he understood what Maria meant. "Is that why you came back?"

Maria nodded.

"And have you found it, Maria?" he asked softly.

"I think I have," she murmured and then met his eyes directly. "I know I have," she corrected herself.

Even though he'd known it, trusted it, his heart lifted, filled with a mixture of tenderness and elation and humility. She was pledging her life—her heart—to him, he thought, and he could only hope and pray he could be worthy of it, worthy of her.

And in that moment, the words came naturally to his lips, those three words he had never spoken to any other woman except for Agathe. "I love you."

The words were a promise, a vow, and he saw her understanding, her emotions, in her eyes before she drew closer to him, lifting her face to his.

He brushed his lips against her nose, her cheekbone and then down the smooth curve of her cheek, learning her lovely face with his lips. He could feel her lips against his cheek, the puff of her breath warming his skin, and he savored the sensation, the innocent caresses.

He was so focused on the physical sensations, on the feel of her skin, on the touch of her lips, that he barely heard her words except in the soft tickle of air against his cheek. "Oh, can this be happening to me?"

Her innocence was clear, precious. He was suddenly amazed, moved to his very soul, that she would trust him so, trust him with her innocence.

He paused in his slow caresses as she began to sing, her voice soft and clear and beautiful, and drew back so he could meet her eyes, watch her expressions as she sang. He knew his Maria well enough to know that she sang as an outlet for her emotions and he loved the sound of her voice. He would happily spend the rest of his life listening to her voice, whether speaking or singing. He couldn't help but wonder if he would have realized he loved her so much sooner if he had only heard her sing from the beginning; she had a voice that could—and had—draw the very heart out of a man.

"For here you are, standing there, loving me, Whether or not you should…"

He shook his head slightly, teasingly, loving the way her eyes softened, shone with answering humor and tenderness.

"So somewhere in my youth or childhood, I must have done something good."

He caressed her features with his eyes, amused almost in spite of the tenderness he felt. He doubted that his Maria had ever had an impure thought, let alone done anything that wasn't good, in her entire life. Not she, with her transparent nature, crystal-clear in its motives and aspirations.

Something about the thought triggered a memory—of that first evening at the dinner table and her brave—if pitiful—attempt at a lie in order to shield his children.

"Do you know when I first started loving you?"

Curiosity flickered across Maria's face and he answered the unspoken question.

"That night at the dinner table when you sat on that ridiculous pine cone," he said with a low, reminiscent laugh at the memory, the mental image it conjured up. It had been such an… undignified reaction, so honest and refreshing and, yes, charming—for he had been charmed, unwillingly, even if he hadn't admitted it to himself for weeks afterwards. She had been so different from every other governess… Now, remembering, he rather thought he had lost his heart the moment she had resumed her seat, pleading "rheumatism", instead of accusing the children, as any other governess would have done. He could only imagine how uncomfortable she must have been during that dinner and the thought of her cheerful, ingenuous—and pointed—conversation still made him want to burst out laughing. (It also made him want to pull her into his arms and kiss her—not that he had admitted that to himself until very, very recently.)

"What?" Maria laughed and he saw a touch of color bloom in her cheeks at the memory. "I knew the first time you blew that silly whistle."

Ah, that whistle. He couldn't imagine what had caught Maria's attention as he remembered his behavior that afternoon with disgust; he had acted like a stiff, uncivil, arrogant tyrant! He could only be thankful that Maria's clear eyes had been able to see past his behavior.

His Maria was very innocent, yes, but she was also very wise.

He lifted his hand to caress her cheek. "Oh, my love," he murmured.

She lowered her head into his touch, her eyes drifting closed, as she turned her head just enough to brush her lips ever so lightly against his palm. He could swear he felt a tingle of heat through his entire body just from the simple touch of her lips to his hand, even as the tenderness in the gesture made his heart swell with emotion.

And lost in the moment, he began to sing, returning the words of the love song which Maria had sung to him, his own declaration.

He saw her eyes soften and glow and could believe—amazingly—that Maria might enjoy the sound of his voice as much as he did hers, especially when she smoothly chimed in to complete the verse.

Their voices blended perfectly, so well he allowed himself a fanciful moment of imagining that they had been meant to sing together.

"So somewhere in my youth…"

"Or childhood," he returned, touching his finger lightly, teasingly, to her nose.

"I must have done something…"

"Something good…"

And their lips met in a kiss, as his arms tightened around her instinctively. Her lips softened beneath his, parting easily with the first beginnings of passion. It took every ounce of self-control he had to keep from deepening the kiss, to keep from kissing her with all the desire he felt for her—that would wait—and he let his lips soften, moving to trace her lips lightly with his, feathering kisses over her cheeks and nose.

"Maria, is there anyone I should go to," he murmured against her skin, reluctant to lose contact with her and having to fight for some coherence, "to ask permission to marry you?"

She drew back just enough to meet his eyes. "Well, why don't we ask--"

"The children?" he finished her question with her as they shared a smile.

"I think they'll approve," he said rather wryly and left unsaid that he was sure they would be much more enthusiastic about his marrying Maria than they had been over his marrying Elsa. (Clearly, his children were smarter than he was.)

"Actually, I wonder if they've already guessed this would happen," Maria said thoughtfully. "Or at least if Liesl and Brigitta guessed."

"Why would you say that?"

"Well, Brigitta and Liesl did insist that I wear this dress for dinner today, when I would have worn something else."

"Did they really?" He made a mental note to reward his daughters. "I appear to have very clever daughters." He paused to brush his lips against her forehead. "You do look beautiful in this dress, Maria."

She smiled and he saw a light blush color her cheeks as her gaze fell before his for a moment, before she nestled her head against his shoulder. "Thank you, Captain."

"The name is Georg," he corrected her softly, tenderly.

Her blush deepened in her cheeks as she met his eyes. "Georg," she repeated quietly, with just the hint of shyness returning to her expression.

She was adorable in her shyness and he couldn't help but kiss her again, his lips finding hers. She melted against him, her lips parting easily for him this time, and he suppressed a groan as he allowed himself to deepen the kiss, falling into it for one brief moment, loving the burgeoning passion of her that he could feel, taste… She was so sweet, his Maria…

He felt the return of uncertainty, of some lingering shyness, in her and ended the kiss slowly, brushing his lips gently against her chin, her cheek, the hollow just before her ear, the tip of her eyebrow, random places only a man in love would cherish. He sensed rather than heard her sigh as she relaxed into him for a moment.

She looked up at him with a soft smile curving her lips. "If I'd known love would feel like this, I don't think I'd ever have left."

He smiled, loving her honesty, her candor, even as her words reminded him of his question that remained unanswered. "Why did you return to the Abbey, Maria?"

"I left because I was frightened."

He stiffened. "Frightened! Of me?"

"Oh, no!" Maria's response was swift and sure, assuaging his momentary pang of doubt. "Never of you. I was frightened of _me_."

She must have seen the confusion he felt reflected in his expression because she hastily added, "I was frightened, confused, at what I felt. I- I didn't know exactly what I felt, only that it wasn't something I'd ever felt before and then, when we danced the Laendler…"

His expression softened into a smile at the mention of the Laendler.

She returned his smile even as her blush deepened a little. "I begged the Reverend Mother not to make me return here but she insisted."

He raised his eyebrows slightly. "I must thank the Reverend Mother then."

"I left the Abbey reluctantly," Maria admitted with a rueful smile, "but then, as I got closer to the villa, I realized I felt that I was returning home and I saw the children again and could not imagine how I'd ever left them."

"The children missed you very much—and so did I," he added and was rewarded for his candor with a glowing smile.

"And I knew I loved you when the children told me of your engagement to the Baroness."

He grimaced a little. "I'm sorry, my love. It was folly on my part but I'd convinced myself that Elsa could be a mother to my children and that--"

She stopped his words by touching her finger lightly to his mouth. "I understand. The children need a mother."

He shook his head a little, reaching up to grasp her hand in his. "The children don't only need a mother; they need _you_. We all need you," he added more softly.

Her eyes glowed and this time she was the one to press her lips to his, taking the initiative for the first time, and he couldn't help his reaction, gathering her into his arms and returning her kiss with more passion than he'd yet shown her.

She gasped a little against his mouth but yielded her mouth sweetly, so trustingly, venturing to return his kiss with a mixture of innocence and passion.

He gentled the kiss slowly, brushing his lips against hers one last time before he drew back. "Maria…" he murmured.

She blinked and lifted her fingers to lightly touch her lips in an almost wondering gesture that had him hiding a tender smile.

"Oh, my…" she sighed.

He couldn't help a soft laugh, loving her openness, her innocent candor. And something about her clear innocence reminded him of his children that afternoon, their blue strawberries and all. "Do you know the children went to the Abbey this afternoon?"

Her eyes widened. "No. The children were at the Abbey?"

"Oh yes, they must have gone to bring you back."

Her face softened. "The little dears. I wish I'd known…"

"They were rather late for dinner because of it and concocted a truly awful story to explain where they were."

She smiled. "Oh, did they? Then, how did you know where they'd gone?"

"It was a simple process of deduction. There was nowhere else they would go and not want to admit going there."

"Dear children. It sounds like one of Brigitta's ideas. I only wish I could have seen them but this afternoon, I was still in seclusion."

"In seclusion?"

Maria blushed a little. "I felt I needed to be alone, even at the Abbey, to try to understand myself, to ask for forgiveness."

"Forgiveness? Whatever for?"

Maria blushed deeper and looked away. "I felt as if I had somehow betrayed my promise to God." She stirred a little, withdrawing slightly from his embrace. "I had pledged my life to Him, pledged my heart to Him—and now I found I'd given my heart to you…"

His heart twisted a little at the uncertainty he heard in her voice, could imagine the confusion she must have felt. "Oh, my love," he murmured, lifting his hand to cup her cheek gently.

She lifted her hand to touch his. "The Reverend Mother assured me that my love for you did not mean that I loved God any less, so I had not betrayed my promise."

He turned his hand to grasp her fingers, bringing them up to his lips in a tender kiss. "As the Reverend Mother would say, God has opened a window. And he has given me a blessing I did not expect."

"He has blessed us all," Maria murmured quietly, her eyes shining with joy.

And looking at her, he felt his throat close on a surge of emotion—yes, truly, God had blessed them. God had blessed _him_. He found himself remembering the picnic up on the Untersburg and how he had thought, even then, that Maria was a blessing. So she was—and he was blessed.

In some of the first dark days, immediately after Agathe's death, he remembered feeling doubt and even some anger, at why God had taken Agathe from them, as young as she had been, as beloved as she had been.

Now, with Maria, he knew he was blessed—greatly blessed to have this second love, a second love which he had neither sought nor expected or even hoped for.

He tightened his arm around Maria as she rested her head comfortably on his shoulder. He was not entirely sure how much time passed as they stood together in silence but then he heard the distant sound of an owl and belatedly realized the lateness of the hour.

"It is getting late," he murmured, finally stirring. He slipped his hand into hers, lifting her hand up to his lips, before he began walking. "Come."

"Should we wake the children?"

He considered the question. "No, I think not," he decided. "They are likely to be so excited by the news it will be impossible for them to fall asleep again."

He heard her smile in her voice. "That's true."

"We can ask for their permission in the morning." He smiled a little to himself imagining his children's reaction. He did not doubt that they would react with all the enthusiasm which had been so conspicuously lacking when he had told his children about Elsa.

"The little dears," Maria murmured affectionately. "I missed them so."

"Yes, well, they were quite inconsolable when you were gone, Marta and Gretl especially." He affected an air of mock injury as he added, "Apparently, I've been quite supplanted in their affections so not even I could comfort them."

Maria laughed. "Captain, really!"

He chuckled, lifting her hand to his lips, more light-hearted than he could remember feeling in years. They had reached the terrace doors and his amusement was somewhat curtailed as he tried the door to find that Franz had already locked it, as was his habit.

"Oh dear," Maria murmured. "I don't believe I left my windows open either."

He turned to look at her. "Your windows? Why?"

She gave him a laughing glance. "Apparently, the children have a way to climb up through my window. It was how Liesl got into my room that first evening, you know."

His eyebrows rose. "Liesl _climbed_ through your window?"

"Yes. She'd been out and the doors had been locked."

He thought for a moment, trying to picture the governess's bedroom from outside, and then stared. If it had been anyone besides Maria, he might have suspected she were inventing the whole thing, but he knew Maria's honest nature and could see the truth in her eyes. "How on earth did Liesl manage to climb through your window?"

Maria laughed. "That's what I asked and she said it was quite possible." She paused and then added, "Apparently, Louisa can climb through my window holding a jar of spiders."

"Spiders!" He shook his head in mock despair. "I'm not sure I wish to hear anything more. Nice ladylike behavior for my daughters to be climbing through windows."

Maria laughed. "Oh, they have some time to be children still."

"I suppose you're right." He paused, reaching into his jacket breast pocket with his free hand. "Well, my daughters may climb through windows but I, for one, refuse to do any such thing to enter my own house," he finished, holding out the keys in his hand. He smiled. "The first rule of the Navy, my dear: always be prepared."

"I would have thought the first rule of the Navy was discipline." Maria gave him an impish glance.

He grinned as he unlocked the door. "I quite gave up on keeping discipline in this house after you arrived."

He locked the door again after he followed Maria inside and then returned the keys to his pocket, taking her hand once more. "Climbing through your windows…" he murmured. "You told me that you and Liesl had been getting better acquainted but do you mean that Liesl was wandering around outside all that time?"

"I'm sure there was no harm in it although Liesl has not taken me into her confidence."

"She must have been out meeting Rolf Gruber," he said a little grimly.

"Rolf—the telegram delivery boy?"

He glanced at her, a little surprised that she remembered Rolf's name—and yet, he supposed it wasn't surprising at all; he knew how quick-witted Maria was. "Yes. Has Liesl told you anything--" he began and then stopped, remembering what Maria had said just moments earlier.

"No, she hasn't," Maria affirmed. "But I guessed it from her manner that first night. I am sure it's an innocent relationship or I would have questioned her about it."

"Well, they cannot meet if there are no telegrams delivered here," he said with some grim satisfaction.

"What do you know about the boy?"

"I know that he has become a Nazi supporter recently and that is quite enough. I will have to tell Liesl that she is not to see him again."

"Oh, no, Captain, you mustn't do that!"

Georg stopped to stare at her in some surprise and a little displeasure. "I mustn't? And why mustn't I?"

Maria met his gaze unflinchingly and he was reminded of their confrontation by the lake the afternoon of his return from Vienna. "Because by forbidding her to see him, you will only make it more likely that she will disobey you and meet him in secret." Her voice was gentle, calm, persuasive. "Forbidding something only adds an allure to it, most especially when it concerns a relationship. It would likely only end with them picturing themselves as a modern-day Romeo and Juliet and strengthen a relationship that would otherwise end quite naturally, I'd imagine."

He was silent for a moment after she was finished and for the first time, he saw a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes and felt a wave of tenderness mingled with another emotion: respect.

He lifted his hand to cup her cheek gently. "My darling, when did you become so wise?"

She pressed her cheek into his hand. "I am not that wise," she demurred.

"On the contrary," he disagreed. "You've given me daily proof of your wisdom." He brushed his lips against her forehead and then her lips, tenderly.

They walked the remaining short distance to her bedroom in comfortable silence until they reached her door and she turned to face him.

He cupped her face in his hands as he kissed her lingeringly. He was careful to keep the kiss soft and gentle, mindful of the fact that her bed was so close—too close and too tempting for him to dare kiss her with even a fraction of the passion he felt. He drew back slowly, conscious of a reluctance to do so, and smiled into her eyes for a moment. "Good night, Maria."

"Good night, Georg." With a last look from her bright eyes and a brief caress of his hand with hers, she slipped inside her bedroom, closing her door softly behind her.

He made his way down the silent corridor to his own bedroom, a smile lingering on his lips and in his heart.

The smile lingered as he changed out of his clothes and shrugged into his robe and then paused, moving over to sit on his bed, picking up the picture of Agathe on the nightstand.

He studied the picture, his gaze moving over Agathe's familiar features, her smile that he saw echoed in Liesl's smile every day. _Ah, Agathe… Be happy for me, my darling._

And though he knew it was fanciful, he rather thought he could see the smile in her picture soften, could hear her well-remembered voice in his mind. _I am happy for you, Georg. This is what I've always wanted, after all, for you and the children to be happy, darling. I know you will not forget me. _

He smiled a small, tender smile, touching one finger lightly to Agathe's cheek in the picture, memories of her flashing through his mind—her smiles, her laughter, her tears, the little way she'd had of touching her cheek to that of their children in a light caress. His Agathe, the bride of his youth, his first love… He deliberately called to mind all his memories of her, memories which he'd usually tried to suppress in the past years-- remembered the first time he'd seen her, dancing so gracefully in the ballroom at that long-ago party given by Baron and Baroness Elberfeld, remembered their first dance together and how he'd been so captivated by her grace and her joy, all her love of music and dancing shining out of her gray eyes, remembered their brief, idyllic courtship, the years of their marriage… He remembered it all, all his love, all their happiness—and all his devastation when she was gone.

He remembered—and in remembering, finally, he felt as if he could let her go. Lay her memory to rest.

Finally, at last, he was free—free for his new life, his new love. This love he had never expected, never even hoped for, but had found in Maria. For he did love her—as much as he had loved Agathe and more, too. His love for Agathe had been true and real but it had also been heedless, the blithe love of youth; his love for Maria was stronger, wiser, with all the added strength and wisdom of the years, of a heart that had suffered and grieved and healed. His love for Agathe was the first love of the youth, the young man, he had been when they'd first met; his love for Maria was the deeper, truer love of the man he now was.

He opened the drawer of the nightstand, reaching inside it to bring out the neatly folded handkerchief in the back, the handkerchief that had been inside this drawer, untouched, for more than three years now. Slowly, he unfolded the handkerchief until it lay flat on the nightstand, revealing what had been kept inside it all these years: Agathe's engagement ring and her wedding ring. He had had some vague idea about giving the ring to Maria but now, looking at the rings again, he changed his mind. No, Maria should have something new, something different.

He stood up, going over to his wardrobe and reaching into the far corner until his fingers touched what he was looking for. He brought out the simply-designed box, opening it, his fingers straying lightly over the jewelry within, the smaller, simpler pieces that Agathe had kept for everyday use—the more expensive pieces, the few family heirloom pieces, were safely in the bank. He picked out a simple gold chain and then replaced the jewelry box where it had been.

Carefully, he strung Agathe's rings on the gold chain and then folded the handkerchief again.

He looked at the picture of Agathe again and this time, spoke aloud, softly. "Goodbye, my love."

He would remember Agathe but now, it was time to move on. Tonight was the true beginning of the rest of his life. His life with Maria.

He closed his eyes, bowing his head, and he could only thank God for the blessing of his life, of his love—the blessing of his Maria.

_~To be continued…~_


	14. Chapter 14

Author's Note: My abject apologies for how long it's been since I've updated this story. I can only plead real life that got in the way and took my muses with them. At any rate, I now have a better idea of where I want to go with this story so hopefully it won't take years before this story is finally finished.

**Something Good**

_Chapter 14_

Georg glanced up and met Maria's eyes as she walked into the dining room for breakfast. Her eyes gave him a small, private greeting although he suspected she had gotten nearly as little sleep as he had. (She was as lovely as always but he rather thought he could see the faint trace of shadows under her eyes that spoke of a sleepless night.)

He glanced around, warmth settling into his chest as he realized that all the children's expressions had visibly brightened at the sight of Maria.

There was a brief silence which he finally broke by saying, "Kurt, I believe it's your turn to say grace."

Kurt hesitated and it was Brigitta who spoke up. "Shouldn't we wait for the Baroness?"

Georg met Maria's eyes before he glanced around the table. "The Baroness left to return to Vienna late yesterday evening." He paused and then added, "She will not be returning."

The children, he noted, didn't bother to hide their relief although none of them was bold enough to say it aloud. Kurt did open his mouth but then closed it again at a warning glance from Friedrich. At any other time, he might have been irritated at this unmannerly display of relief at a guest leaving but he was still so filled with happiness that he had no room left for any other emotion, let alone an unpleasant one.

It was another few moments before Kurt bowed his head and half-mumbled the grace and they all began eating.

He considered— briefly—and then discarded the idea of announcing his engagement while they age. He didn't doubt the news would make them too excited to eat and he didn't want them going hungry.

He leaned back contentedly to watch as Maria silently spread jam on a piece of toast for Gretl. Gretl smiled at Maria so brightly that he felt a catch at his heart. How could he even have thought of letting Maria go? His children needed her as much as he did.

He waited until they were all finished eating (except Kurt) before he met Maria's eyes again and nodded slightly as her eyes shone at him.

"Children," he began and then paused as they all looked up at him. He had not stopped to think about what he was going to say, how he was going to announce this news. He finally said, plainly, "I have some news. Fraulein Maria is not going to be your governess anymore."

He wasn't sure what reaction he'd expected but he could only stare as his children leaped up out of their seats and went to Maria, ranging themselves around her, as she stood up as well. Gretl wrapped her arms around Maria's waist as if she would never let go again. Brigitta slipped her arm inside Maria's and Louisa put a hand on Maria's shoulder (rather surprising him, since Louisa was the least demonstrative of his children, but it warmed his heart to see this evidence of how much Louisa too cared for Maria). Only Liesl remained in her usual place, although she, too, had stood up staring at him.

"Please let Fraulein Maria stay," Marta said pleadingly and suddenly everyone was talking in agreement, a confusing babble of sound, much like it had been earlier for her return. Kurt's voice rang out last as he said, "She just came back! You can't let her leave again!"

"Children," Maria said softly but the one word from her silenced everyone. "I think you should let your father finish."

Georg allowed himself to smile the way he'd wanted to all morning. "I have no intention of letting Fraulein Maria leave again," he began. "What I meant was that Fraulein Maria is not going to be your governess because she is going to be your new mother."

"You mean—" Kurt burst out and then stopped.

"Oh, Father!" Louisa exclaimed.

"Oh, I knew it!" Brigitta chimed in, all three speaking at once.

Maria smiled in the general laughter that followed these reactions. "I would love to be your mother if you will let me," she said softly.

Georg met her eyes and wondered if it was possible for a heart to burst with love.

There was a chorus of "Yes" and "we will" and he saw the tears threatening in spite of her smile and knew she was feeling much the same rush of emotion he was.

He knew he loved her and needed her in his life but he didn't think he'd quite realized, to the full, until that moment, just how much his children loved her too. She completed them all; she was the one that made them whole again, a family again in the best sense of the word…

He moved over to her side, extricating her gently from the children, to slide his arm around her waist. "I think they all approve," he told her dryly and she laughed, her eyes glowing up at him.

He smiled at her before pulling her closer to brush his lips against her temple, instead of her lips, mindful of their fascinated (and beaming) audience.

He drew back all too quickly, letting his arm fall from her waist. Much as he enjoyed having Maria in his arms, there were some things his children did not need to witness.

Instead, he turned to face Max, who had also stood up and now approached them, accepting Max's hand. "Well, Georg, congratulations although I cannot say I'm very surprised."

"Thank you, Max."

Max turned to Maria. "Fraulein, congratulations and," he added with a glance at Georg, "my condolences for having to deal with Georg here every day."

Maria laughed a little. "Thank you, Herr Detweiler," she said with only a hint of irony in her tone.

Gretl distracted him by slipping her hand into his and he looked down at her with a smile. "Does this mean Fraulein Maria will live with us forever?"

He bent and lifted Gretl into his arms so he could smile into her eyes. "Yes, Gretl, she'll never leave us again. Will you like that, darling?"

Gretl nodded enthusiastically and he laughed softly, kissing her cheek, before setting her down again.

He glanced around at his smiling children and thought, _yes, we are going to be a very happy family._ He remembered saying that when telling his children of his engagement to Elsa, as if saying the words aloud would make them come true, but he had not truly known it, had not truly _felt_ it. Now, he did know—they were going to be happy. No, he corrected himself, they already _were_ a happy family.

On an impulse, before he even realized he was going to speak the words, he found himself suggesting, "Now, how about we all go on a picnic today?" He wanted to spend the day with his family. He had to send a notice of his engagement to the newspaper and he needed to go into town to buy Maria's engagement ring, among other errands, but they would wait until later, until tomorrow. For one day, he thought, he wanted to think of nothing but his family, wanted to bask in this joy.

"Oh, yes!" He smiled at his children's eagerness, meeting Maria's eyes as she nodded ever so slightly, giving him a bright smile.

"Uncle Max, will you come with us?" Marta asked.

Max. He realized he had, momentarily, forgotten about Max's presence. And friend though Max was, on that one day, Georg did not want Max there.

He directed a pointed look at Max, who smirked just a little, before he answered Marta. "I'm sorry, Marta, but I have some business to take care of. You all will have to go without me today."

"Come along, children, so we can get ready for the picnic," Maria said, smilingly ushering the children ahead of her.

"Liesl."

Liesl turned back from following Brigitta out the door. "Yes, Father?"

"I'd like a moment with you."

"Certainly, Father," she agreed.

He glanced at Max. "If you'll excuse us, Max."

Max waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "Don't worry about me, Georg."

He guided Liesl out of the dining room and, after a moment's thought, into his study.

She gave him an inquiring look. "What is it, Father?"

He studied her for a moment—his daughter who had grown so much. For a fleeting moment, it was as if he could see her as the little girl she had been, the first child that had brought him and Agathe such joy by her arrival. He felt a wave of tenderness for her.

He had not planned out what to say and settled for saying, simply, "I have something I wanted to give you." He reached into his pocket, pulling out the folded handkerchief which he'd placed there that morning.

He put the handkerchief on his desk, unfolding it to reveal Agathe's rings on the simple gold chain. He lifted the chain with one careful hand to show it to Liesl.

Her eyes were fixed on the rings, her lips parted slightly. "Those are… those are Mother's rings," she murmured softly.

"Yes," he said gently. "Now, they are yours. I decided that you are old enough to have them."

Liesl blinked rapidly, as her eyes grew too bright and sparkling with sudden tears. "Oh, Father…"

"Here." He stepped forward to clasp the chain around her neck before stepping back to see her face.

She managed a somewhat tremulous smile as she reached up with one hand to touch the rings. "Thank you, Father."

He returned her smile, lifting one hand to brush her cheek with his knuckles in his usual gesture of affection. "My little Liesl," he murmured, and saw her smile soften at the endearment which he had used to call her when she'd been younger, Gretl's age, but had gradually stopped using.

"You haven't called me that in years," she said.

"Well, you are no longer very little, are you?" he smiled. "You've grown up so much in these past few years, are quite the young lady now." He paused and then found himself adding, almost involuntarily, "I only wish your mother could see the young lady you have become."

Liesl's hand lifted to touch the rings again. "I wish that too," she said, so softly he could hardly hear it.

The words reminded him that Liesl, of all his children, would remember Agathe best. "Liesl," he began again, rather abruptly.

"Yes, Father?"

"Do you—are you truly happy to know that I will be marrying again?" he asked, a little awkwardly. Even days ago, he would not have thought to ask the question but now, for the first time, he wondered if it would be difficult for Liesl to see someone replacing her mother.

She gave him a sweet, bright smile, a smile that made her look momentarily so much like Agathe that it caught at his heart. "We all love Fraulein Maria. If we had been able to choose anyone to be our new mother, we would have chosen her." She paused and then added, more seriously, "And I want you to be happy, Father."

His heart melted and he stepped forward to hug Liesl, this dear eldest daughter of his, kissing her forehead before he drew back. "I do not think I could be any happier or prouder than I am at this moment," he told her honestly before he added, more briskly, "Now, go and get ready for the picnic."

She gave him a last, bright smile before she left. "Yes, Father, thank you."

He watched her hurry upstairs before he went to tell Frau Schmidt that he and the children would not be home for lunch and ask for a picnic basket to be packed.

That done, he went upstairs to change into a less formal jacket and by the time he came downstairs, it was to find Maria and his children ready and waiting for him in the front hall. His gaze passed over them all, pausing as he noted that both Brigitta and Louisa were wearing the "play-clothes" which Maria had made for them, Louisa even wearing the matching handkerchief over her hair. A smile tugged at his lips and he gave in to it as he descended the stairs.

"Now, are we all ready?" he asked.

A chorus of "Yes, Father" greeted him while Maria smiled.

"Well, then, let us be off," he said and laughed as Kurt burst out with a "Hurrah!"

"Have a good day, children," Max said, his voice half-drowned out in the burst of chatter as his children left and it was left to Brigitta to glance back at Max with a happy grin.

"We will, Uncle Max. We will see you this evening."

He exchanged glances with Max before he left, following the children and Maria out into the sunshine. Once outside, he sucked in a deep breath of the crisp, clean air of the morning, feeling his heart lift, filling with joy. And for once, he resolved to push all unpleasant thoughts and his lingering worries over the Nazis and the fate of Austria out of his mind and simply enjoy this day.

The day was lovely and he found it amazingly easy to keep to his resolution. It would be almost impossible to feel gloom or worry when surrounded by his smiling children, he thought, and they were amazingly cheerful. He had never, he realized, seen them quite so relaxed, so carefree, and he knew it was because of Maria—Maria and, he suspected, because of their new knowledge that she would always be with them.

They piled onto the bus to take them into Salzburg and because there weren't enough seats left for all of them, he had Marta sit on his lap, while Gretl sat on Maria's lap. Friedrich and Kurt had to stand, holding on to the handle-bars provided for the purpose and they all laughed as the bus came to a halt and the boys collided with each other. It was entirely undignified, the bus seats uncomfortable, and the space cramped, all of which explained why he had never before been on the bus—and he had never enjoyed himself more.

He was almost sorry to reach the Untersburg but it was beautiful there too, the blue skies stretching above them and the green, unbroken carpet of grass stretching before them.

The children raced ahead, calling to each other and laughing, leaving him and Maria behind.

"Children, be careful," she called out as Marta almost stumbled but caught herself and ran on, chasing after Brigitta and Louisa.

He glanced at Maria, shaking his head with mock disappointment. "My children have grown quite wild lately."

She laughed. "Perhaps they have, but it is good for them, I think. After all, they will only be young once."

She made a gesture with a hand to where Liesl and Louisa were spreading out the picnic blanket and then shot him a distinctly mischievous glance. "Shall we race to the blanket, Captain?"

And the words were barely out of her mouth before she was off, leaving him to blink and stare—and then run after her.

He was not so unfit, he liked to think, but she did have the advantage of him and reached the picnic blanket a few seconds before he did. She almost fell onto the blanket, breathing hard and laughing, her hair wind-blown and her face flushed. And she looked so beautiful that she had a greater effect on his breathing than the run had.

Maria grinned at him as he discarded his jacket. "I won."

He met her eyes, trying to appear displeased and not burst out laughing. "You had an unfair advantage, taking me by surprise like that."

"There's no need to be a poor loser, Captain."

He lost the battle with his laughter and gave in to his amusement. "You, my dear, are a minx," he accused, his tone making the word an endearment, as he tapped her nose lightly with his finger, almost as he might do to Gretl or Marta, and then caught her hand in his, lifting it to his lips for a quick kiss.

He belatedly became aware that his children were watching them with a mixture of fascination and surprise when Kurt chimed in, saying, "It's all right, Father; Fraulein Maria beat me in a race too."

This statement produced a general burst of laughter that he joined, noting the slight flush that colored Maria's cheeks.

"Children," Maria spoke up, "go run and play while I set out our lunch."

"I'll help you," Liesl volunteered.

Maria thanked her with a quick smile and Georg was on the verge of volunteering as well, but Kurt interrupted him.

"Will you come play too, Father?"

"Oh, yes, do, Father," Friedrich chimed in and Georg could only agree, feeling happier and more honored at his sons' ready invitation to join them than he had felt on receiving his promotion to Captaincy so many years ago.

He stood up, following his sons as they ran off and then caught the ball that Friedrich lobbed at him, throwing it to Kurt next. And so the game was on.

He watched his sons, seeing the ruddy flush on their cheeks from exertion, hearing the exuberance in their young voices as they called and laughed. Kurt gave a triumphant crow as the ball went sailing past Georg's head so Georg had to chase it down before he could throw it to Friedrich, who leaped into the air and caught it easily with a boyish laugh.

Just as it had on their last picnic, the game ended abruptly—this time, with him being the one to make an undignified stumble as he made a fruitless leap into the air in an attempt to catch the ball as it went sailing past and found himself falling onto the grass with an impact that jarred his entire body, making him aware that he was not as young as he once was.

"Oh, Father!" Both Kurt and Friedrich came rushing up and he became aware of the sounds of other footsteps as some of his daughters also came running and he quickly pushed himself back to his feet, not even permitting himself a grimace.

"I'm quite all right," he assured his sons before he turned to face Louisa and Brigitta.

"Father, are you all right?" Louisa gasped out as she all but flung herself against him in a display of emotion that touched him beyond words.

He closed his arm around her in a brief, reassuring hug, kissing her forehead. "I am fine," he said firmly, and then added more lightly, "It is not very flattering that you all seem so convinced that your father is so frail. I am not quite in my dotage, you know."

Louisa gave him a relieved smile as he released her.

Brigitta dimpled up at him. "But you are so very old, Father!"

He laughed, chucking her lightly on the chin. "Just for that, you little minx, you can support your poor old father back to the blanket."

He put his arm around her shoulders, deliberately leaning his weight on her for a moment, until she said in laughing protest, "You know I can't carry you, Father!"

"Ah, but I can still carry you, and don't you forget it," he returned with mock sternness.

"Yes, sir," she said with exaggerated docility, that was spoiled by her smiling glance up at his face before she rested her glossy, black head against his shoulder for a moment.

"Food!" Kurt announced exuberantly as he fell onto the blanket, causing general laughter as Georg and Brigitta came up, followed by Friedrich.

Georg suddenly realized with an odd shock that his son was nearly as tall as he was now and would, no doubt, grow the few inches wanting within the next year or two. When had Friedrich grown so tall? He suddenly heard Maria's remembered voice telling him that Friedrich "wants to be a man like you but there's no one to show him how." He felt a pang of guilt; no, he had not done right by his sons. Kurt was still young enough, his disposition naturally sunny enough, that the last few years had not mattered over much, Georg thought. But Friedrich was a different matter; 14 was an awkward age for a boy, Georg recalled, not quite a child and yet not quite an adult either.

He blinked, pulled from his thoughts by the sound of Friedrich's boyish laugh as he tossed an apple to Louisa, and smiled a little at the sight, his guilt easing.

He would be a better father now, with Maria's help, and Friedrich was a good lad.

He relaxed onto the blanket as they all started eating the lunch of bread, cheese, weiner schnitzel, and apples, realizing belatedly, now that he was sitting down, just how tired he was—and how disheveled. He brushed off some grass from his trousers and he knew his shirt was stained. Just weeks ago, he would have been horrified at the undignified picture he must make—not at all befitting a Captain of the Navy—but now, he could only think that he had never been happier.

He glanced at Maria, only to be momentarily distracted by the curve of her throat as she drank some lemonade. He wanted to kiss the delicate hollow at the base of her neck and abruptly found himself wishing that his children were not there, that he and Maria were alone, so he could.

She must have sensed his gaze, her eyes meeting his, as sudden color flooded her face. Their eyes met and held—she really had the loveliest eyes he had ever seen, he thought rather vaguely—and for just a moment, the rest of the world faded from his consciousness until there was only him and her…

The sound of a swiftly-stifled giggle had her blinking and looking away and he returned to reality and a renewed awareness of where they were—and that they were surrounded by his children, who were not even making a pretense of not being fascinated by this interplay between him and Maria. He felt his cheeks heating and was amazed—he was blushing as if he were the youngest, most callow private!

"Kurt!"

Louisa's scolding protest snapped him out of his embarrassment as he turned to see that Kurt had reached out and taken not just one but three apples. He opened his mouth on a reproof at this apparent show of greed but before he could, Kurt protested defensively, "I'm not going to eat them; I just wanted to try to juggle them!"

"Try it, then," Brigitta challenged.

Kurt sat up straighter, taking a breath as he tossed the apples into the air, managing to catch one but dropping the other two, to a chorus of laughter. Kurt joined good-naturedly into the laughter before looking at Maria. "Fraulein Maria, can you show us how you did it again?"

He blinked, turning to stare at his fiancée. Maria could juggle?

Maria colored a little, not meeting his eyes, as she reached for the apples and, before his surprised gaze, actually did manage to juggle the apples before stopping with a victorious flourish. His children applauded and she smiled at them, inclining her head a little, before she looked over at him, her smile becoming tinged with a hint of self-consciousness.

She was adorable.

He reached for her hand, giving it a slight squeeze. "You have hidden talents, Fraulein."

Her smile brightened. "Thank you, Captain."

A brief silence fell that was broken by Brigitta, who suddenly leaned over to touch the chain around Liesl's neck. "Liesl, this is new. Where did you get it?"

Liesl glanced down, one hand lifting to finger Agathe's rings as they hung on the chain, before she glanced up at him and then back at Brigitta. "Father gave it to me this morning," she said quietly. "They're Mother's rings."

"Ooh," Brigitta sighed as Marta scrambled up to get a better look.

"Are they really Mother's?" Marta asked, her voice almost reverent, as she reached out to touch them.

"I remember them," Louisa said, very softly, and Georg glanced at her sharply. Louisa, of all his children, he knew, had taken Agathe's death the hardest. She was not, by nature, the most open or easily trusting and to lose her mother, who had been the single, most important person in her young life—and then to be relegated to the care of a series of less-than-affectionate governesses while her father retreated into a world of familiar but cold discipline—had made her even less inclined to be open to emotion. Of all his children, he was not sure he had ever heard Louisa speak about Agathe before. There was a wistfulness in her eyes, a look of unguarded, lingering grief flitting over her face.

He reached over to touch her cheek with his fingers in a light caress, so her gaze flashed up to meet his small, tender smile, a smile that she returned with one of her own, the slightest curve of her lips.

"But Fraulein Maria is going to be our mother now," Gretl piped up.

He felt Maria's quick glance and met her eyes for a moment before she reached over to draw Gretl into her embrace. "Yes, I am going to be your mother," she said quietly, looking at each of the children in turn. "But I won't be taking your first mother's place in your hearts; she must always have that. I want you to remember her and treasure your memories of her, as I'm sure that she is watching over you all from Heaven and loving you just as much as she did when she was here with you."

Georg had to look away, focusing his gaze on the Untersburg and the other mountains and the blue sky beyond, as he fought to regain control of his emotions. He didn't know when he had last been so moved. Moved and humbled at the depths and strength of Maria's love and understanding. He did not know what he had done to deserve such a blessing—to have found her when he had been so certain that he could never love another woman after Agathe—but at that moment, on Maria's mountain, he was suddenly certain that God was smiling down on him. And he was blessed.

The moment was abruptly broken by Kurt announcing, with the blithe obliviousness of a young boy, "I'm still hungry. Is there more food?"

Amid the general burst of laughter, Maria answered, "The apples are all that's left, Kurt. I'm afraid you ate the rest." She tossed him an apple that he caught with a quick grin of thanks.

"Really, Kurt, I do believe you will have eaten us out of house and home before your next birthday," Georg interjected, leaning over to teasingly pat Kurt's stomach.

Kurt ducked away. "Father, that's not true!" he protested.

"Oh no? What do you think, Marta?" Georg turned to his daughter who giggled.

"Kurt eats more than all of us girls do," she asserted.

"And I think for Kurt's sake we should start preparing to return home," Maria spoke briskly. "That way, we will be certain to return in time for dinner."

That magic word worked its spell as Kurt sat straight up. "Dinner!"

So it was on a general wave of laughter that Maria and the girls began to pack up their picnic materials while Friedrich retrieved their ball.

Georg stood up, shaking out his jacket before shrugging into it. He was aware he looked decidedly unkempt, was hardly fit to be seen in polite company. He glanced around at his daughters—at Liesl, who was quietly helping Gretl put her shoes back on, at Louisa, who was once again covering her hair with the handkerchief made out of the old drapes in the governess' bedroom. And he suddenly thought that he didn't care what polite company might think, would defy even the high sticklers of Salzburg society if any saw them on their return trip through the city. There would be, no doubt, some censorious gazes to see them so untidily dressed in public, hardly fitting for a Baron and his children. Well, let them be disapproving! There were more important things than propriety and they were _happy_ in their somewhat disheveled state.

A memory flashed through his mind, his own words demanding, _do you mean to tell me that my children have been roaming about Salzburg dressed up in nothing but some old drapes! _

He glanced at Brigitta and Louisa, wearing those "old drapes," and had to laugh suddenly.

Brigitta looked up at him with a slight smile. "What is so funny, Father?"

He slipped his arm around her shoulder, dropping a light kiss on her glossy hair. "I was wondering what people would say if they knew that you and Louisa were dressed in curtains."

Brigitta laughed. "They make very nice play-clothes, Father."

"I can see that."

"Fraulein Maria must be very clever with needle and thread," Brigitta said, more soberly.

"Yes," Georg murmured, a smile tugging at his lips as another memory stirred, the pride with which Maria had once announced, "I can make my own clothes." Impertinence, he had thought at the time—but now, it was another facet of his Maria's character that he loved, her self-reliance and her spirit.

Brigitta turned to look at Maria. "Fraulein Maria?"

"Yes, Brigitta?"

"Can you teach me how to make clothes like you did with these?" she asked, gesturing to her own outfit.

Maria smiled. "Of course, Brigitta. In fact, I believe I was just about your age when I first learned to make clothes."

"I'd like to learn too," Louisa spoke up, a thread of diffidence in her voice.

Maria's smile softened a little as she put her arm around Louisa. "And so you shall."

"Can I learn too?" Marta chimed in.

Maria laughed releasing Louisa to rest her hand lightly on Marta's head. "We can have a regular sewing class. That is," she added, glancing at Georg quickly, "if your father approves."

Brigitta looked up at him. "Can we, Father?"

He looked from Maria to his daughters. "Well, seeing as how you already know how to climb trees and row boats, sewing seems like the only thing left for you to learn," he said with mock solemnity. "In fact," he added, with a quickly-smothered smile, "perhaps the boys would like to learn too?"

"Not me!" Kurt yelped in prompt dismay.

Maria's eyes met his for a second and he stared as she gave him a quick, almost imperceptible wink before turning to Kurt, her face and voice both entirely serious. "Why, Kurt, now that your father has suggested it, I think I will require all of you children to learn such a useful skill."

Kurt turned to Georg, dismay written all over his face. "You won't make us learn how to sew, will you, Father?"

He kept a straight face only by dint of will. "Kurt, I always thought you seemed destined to become a seamstress."

The boy reacted to the tone quicker than he did the words, his jaw dropping slightly. "Fath—" he began hotly only to stop as Georg gave in to his laughter, laughter in which his daughters and Maria joined.

"Oh, Kurt! The look on your face!" Brigitta gasped out.

After a fleeting second, Kurt's boyish laugh rang out as he joined in with laughing heartily at himself.

Georg reached over to ruffle the boy's hair. He was a good lad, he thought approvingly. It was not always easy to laugh at oneself, especially at his age, but Kurt seemed to have no difficulty.

"Come. Let us go home," Georg finally said, glancing around at all his children.

"Come along, children," Maria chimed in. "Liesl, will you carry the basket?"

"I've got the picnic blanket," Louisa spoke up.

Maria flashed her a quick smile as she stepped in between Gretl and Marta, taking each of their hands in hers.

Liesl and Friedrich led the way, easily carrying the basket between them. Georg carried up the rear with Brigitta walking beside him. They really were a family already, he thought, his gaze passing over each of his children and Maria in turn.

At that moment, Maria lifted her head, her eyes meeting his. Her lips curved into a soft smile, one that he returned, his heart lifting.

Yes, they were a family now and nothing, he thought with a sudden swell of determination, would ever be allowed to keep them apart again. Come what may, they were a family and they would stay together.

_~To be continued…~_


End file.
